


Breathe Me Back to Life

by Star_Princess31



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant to a Point, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It gets a little dark, Lonely Steve Rogers, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicidal Ideation, To a point, Touch-Starved, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, exploring Steve's mental health, for both of them really, nothing graphic just a tiny baby mention, then its all new, touch-starved Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Princess31/pseuds/Star_Princess31
Summary: The whole ride back from the VA, Sam’s question echoes in his head. “What makes you happy?”...Even after coming out of the ice, Steve hasn't felt alive since 1945. Not since he watched Bucky fall off of that train. Finding out Bucky is still alive fills him with a new purpose, even if there's only a slim chance he can get Bucky back, he's willing to do whatever it takes or die trying. Life without Bucky isn't really living anyway, so he might as well give it his all.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1: Barely Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhh hey guys!  
> So I read somewhere on Twitter (not sure how true it is) that in an earlier version of the script, after Bucky pulled Steve from the river he was supposed to give him mouth-to-mouth, so that of course inspired me to write this! Anyway, I haven't written in a really long time so please be kind! Comments are always appreciated!!! Enjoy!  
> (Also, this will follow Steve through parts of TWS and then stop being canon compliant following the helicarrier scene)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna put a TW here for this chapter for suicidal ideation just to be safe. 
> 
> It's just a tiny baby mention hinting at the Valkyrie crash as a suicide attempt, not graphic or anything, but if it's triggering for anyone I would recommend skipping from where it says "Sometimes Steve hated being him..." and picking back up at "So yeah..."
> 
> There's also a tag for self-harm, but it's also nothing major, just a precaution. Some unwrapped knuckles on a punching bag starting at "As soon as Steve recognized..." and ending at "Maybe if his thoughts got too loud.."

The whole ride back from the VA, Sam’s question echoes in his head. _“What makes you happy?”_

Steve hates that he has no answer. Since waking up in his new reality in the future, Steve still had yet to figure out exactly who he was. If he was being honest with himself, he never really even figured out who he was in 1945. He had thought he had it all figured out at one point, but once the war started everything changed so quickly. Everything he thought he knew ripped away from him piece by piece. He had tried to find solace in some of the things he knows brought him joy in the past, like art. He hadn’t picked up his sketchbook and pencils since before a certain mission he’d rather not think about involving a train. A few weeks after coming out of the ice he figured he should try to pick it back up, but on instinct his shaking hands started to give shape to a face they had formed a thousand times over. As soon as Steve recognized the beginnings of Bucky’s distinct features staring back at him, he dropped the materials in his rush to flee to the gym, slamming his unwrapped fists into the punching bag until it was slick with blood from his knuckles.

He dreads going back to his apartment. Everything about it reminds him how alone he is now. The walls are neutral, the scarcely decorated maze of rooms echoing any sound he makes back at him; not that he makes much noise anyway with no one else around. It’s all very impersonal, empty. The only things that fill the place are a few pieces of dull gray furniture pre-selected for him before he was allowed to move in, much more lavish pieces than he ever could have dreamed of affording _before_ , and a few stacks of files from S.H.I.E.L.D. scattered messily among his handful of personal possessions. For such a vast open space, the apartment is suffocating.

Hopping off of his bike, Steve braces himself for the idea of spending another night alone with his thoughts in his expensive prison. He looks down to check his already-healed knuckles. It’s only been about two days since he last hit the bag, but after a particularly gruesome nightmare, he had done quite a number on his hands. One benefit to the serum, he supposes, if he was a normal man, the damage he had done the other day would have left his hands out of commission for weeks instead of the better part of a weekend. Maybe if his thoughts got too loud he would spend his evening at the gym. What he wasn’t expecting was to walk in and find Nick Fury in his apartment. He was even less prepared to watch him die

**. . . .**

Hydra. Fucking Hydra. He had died for nothing. All of the work Peggy and Howard had devoted their lives to had been for nothing. Hydra had managed to grow undetected under their noses the entire time.

Steve was tired. So fucking tired. And he could tell Natasha was too. After all, if anyone could understand the confusing storm of emotions raging through him right now it would be her. And because he understood how she must have been feeling grappling with finding out that she hadn’t been working for who she thought she had, he had to be strong for her. For both of them. There would be time to fall apart later, for now he needed to worry about the mission at hand.

Sometimes Steve hated being _him- Captain America._ The role came with too much baggage, more than he could have ever expected. He had never really even agreed to all of this, only wanted to do his part to help defend his country and those in need, but somewhere along the line became this symbol for justice, some sort of beacon of hope. He often felt like he was being slowly crushed by the weight of the world's problems, as well as his own guilt for those he could not help save, but he was always expected to act like he had it all together for the sake of the ever-lingering media and his public image. People idolized him, he was supposed to be the perfect man after all, so he was never allowed to fall apart, could never let any of his bone-deep exhaustion show on his face, never show any contempt for use of his likeness for things that could be categorized as nothing more than propaganda, never so much as look confused by how much things had changed since he had gone into the ice without someone having a camera at the ready to publish some outlandish headline taking things out of context. What would the country think if they learned that their so-called pillar of virtue actually despised so many of the "traditional values" he was associated with simply because he was born in the past. What would they think if they knew some days he actually truly hated himself?

There were days Steve wished he could go back and stop himself from agreeing to become a science experiment, that he could just go back to being a 90 lb asthmatic, go back to his and Bucky's shared apartment in Brooklyn and live out the rest of his days that way until he was inevitably taken by some illness or another. He usually reminds himself at that point that had he not taken the serum he never would have found Bucky, but he lost him anyway so really what did that matter? He wished the Valkyrie had finished him off like it was supposed to... What would America think if they knew he had gone into the ice without even looking for an alternative hoping to never come out?

So yeah, Steve hated being him sometimes, but times like these when everything weighed heavily in his mind, threatening to take over completely, he was endlessly grateful to be able to fully embrace the persona and shut off everything that was just _Steve_ 's thoughts.

It was all too easy to slip into mission mentality. It was familiar, almost comforting, to be able to push aside the thought that everything he thought he knew about S.H.I.E.L.D. was wrong, that he had actually been working with his most notorious enemy the entire time he'd been out of the ice, the guilt for bringing Sam into all of this, and instead focus on the task at hand. Figure out how to get in and get Sam's Falcon equipment, and then go after Sitwell.

Taking one last heavy breath, Steve closed his eyes and felt himself slip into his Captain America mindset: focus on strategy. The goal was to go as undetected as possible, get in, get what they need, and get out. As far as Sitwell, they needed to focus on surprise and intimidation, come up with an efficient but quick plan to scare the information right out of him. This mission would be a piece of cake, the hardest part would just be making sure no one spotted them and turned them in. They could handle this. They had to.

**. . . .**

_"Who the hell is Bucky?"_

One look at the familiar face before him had punched every bit of Oxygen from Steve's lungs more efficiently than any fist ever could. If his brain hadn't been acutely aware of the fact that it was 2014 as his brain was scrambling to process Bucky being here, he could swear they were back in the 40's and he was having an asthma attack. Thank God Sam and Natasha were there or he would have died, just like that, he would have let Bucky kill him in the middle of the street because that face was the only distraction powerful enough to knock him right out of his Captain America mission brain.

Even now while they were still in immediate danger, being taken by the very people they were trying to stop, he was compromised. His every thought just a mantra of _Bucky. Bucky. How was Bucky here?_

They were loaded into a heavily guarded van. _Oh God, Bucky, what did they do to you?_

"It was him. He looked right at me like he didn't even know me." He really needed to focus on figuring out how to get them out of here, Natasha was hurt and they were all in danger, but it didn't make sense, how could- _Zola!_

"Zola. Bucky's whole unit was captured in '43, Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him and..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought as he explained it to Sam, not that he really knew what specifically they had done to him anyway. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"None of that's your fault Steve." Natasha's tone was firm, like she could read his thoughts. Only if she could she would know how wrong she was. There was so much he could have done, so much he _should_ have done. He never asked Bucky what they had done to him when he was captured, he should have sent him home when he had the chance but instead he asked him to follow him into more dangerous missions. When Bucky fell he never even looked for his body. If he wasn't busy being so _selfish_ in his own grief he would have either found him or noticed that something had happened to him and put a stop to it. Bucky would have gone back to look for him, he had done so much for him his whole life, and this was how he was repaid.

"Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky..." He grumbled, trying not to snap and take it out on Natasha when she was hurt and had literally just saved his life.

“We need to get a doctor here. We don't put pressure on that wound she's gonna bleed out here in the truck.” Sam nods to Natasha’s wounded shoulder.

 _Selfish._ Steve thinks. He keeps forgetting Natasha is hurt, too worried about his own feelings and the Bucky situation. He looks at his lap and realizes he's been pressing crescents so deeply into his palms that his knuckles have gone white.

There’s a commotion as one of the guards goes rogue and attacks the others. He looks up and Maria Hill is staring back at them.

**. . . .**

Steve can’t explain the sudden burst of anger as they round the corner and Nick Fury is staring back at him- alive. He listens to the explanation of _how_ he’s alive, and it checks out, but he’s irritated that they put him and Natasha through the stress of having to watch him “die” and deal with the fallout on their own.

“Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?” He finally snaps at them.

“Can't kill you if you're already dead. Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust.” Fury explains. Steve doesn’t respond, just stares at him a little in disbelief. _Not sure who to trust._ How absolutely rich coming from the most secretive man Steve has ever met.

He plays nice while they patch up Natasha’s shoulder and fill Fury and Hill in on the information they got from Sitwell, but when he doesn’t absolutely need to add anything he mostly broods, let’s himself feel a little angry at the lack of trust and communication among the people he’s supposed to be working with, at the whole Hydra infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D. situation, and especially about whatever happened, or rather _is happening_ to Bucky. None of it is fair. He catches himself forming fists instinctively and stops himself before he can press his nails into his palms, forcing himself to unclench his hands and get up to pace instead. What he wouldn’t give for a round with the punching bag right now, but he’s got a mission to focus on, he needs to be at his best.

Steve listens patiently as Hill explains the plan to take down the carriers, but pauses when Fury suggests trying to salvage whatever they can from whatever will be left of the servers.

“We're not salvaging anything. We're not just taking down the carriers, Nick, we're taking down S.H.I.E.L.D.” Steve explains forcefully. For them to truly make sure they’ve eliminated the treat, everything’s got to go. There’s no way to know what’s S.H.I.E.L.D. and what’s Hydra anymore. “You gave me this mission, this is how it ends. SHIELD's been compromised, you said so yourself. HYDRA grew right under your nose and nobody noticed.”

“Why do you think we're meeting in this cave? I noticed.” _Too late._ Steve thinks.

“And how many paid the price before you did?” It’s harsh, he knows, but maybe it’s what Fury needs to hear. And sure, maybe he is projecting a little of his own guilt, but really how could they all have been so blind to the threat growing all around them for so long.

“Look, I didn't know about Barnes.” And that strikes a still-raw nerve.

“Even if you have, would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that too? S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra, it all goes!” He snaps. Because the truth is, he still is hesitant to trust anybody beside Sam and Natasha at this point. He’ll work with Fury and Hill because they seem to be on the same side and they have the resources they need to finish the job, but at the end of the day this whole Hydra-in-S.H.I.E.L.D. scenario has him questioning everything he knows about S.H.I.E.L.D. and everything he’s done since waking up two years ago.

“Well... Looks like you're giving the orders now, Captain.” His little outburst does seem to have the desired effect though as Hill and Fury agree to do things his way. _This is how it has to be._ He reminds himself. To be completely sure they’re actually taking out Hydra for good this time, S.H.I.E.L.D. has got to go too, they’ve become too intertwined. They cannot mess this up, they’ve got millions of lives to save… They’ve got Bucky to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this didn't end up being as good as it could have been since I kinda rushed it, but I still hope you enjoyed!! I know it was kinda sad/dark but it will get better I SWEAR, Steve's just gotta go through it first.  
> Leave a comment and let me know what you think or ideas for future chapters! Chapter two will be the big one with the helicarrier scene and that's where we leave canon behind (it will be up ASAP)!  
> Find me on Twitter: @Star_Princess31


	2. Chapter 2: Baited Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, here we go! 
> 
> Canon-typical violence in this chapter. I'm warning y'all now, this chapter is ROUGH, I HATE writing action so I struggled a lot writing it but THIS IS IT, the big reunion. This is also where we start drifting away from canon so get ready!

_“We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.”_ Steve had come out onto the bridge to try and get some air, clear his head. He needed to focus to be able to get this mission done, there were lives on the line, but all he could think about was Bucky’s face staring back at him with cold, unfamiliar eyes. It all came rushing back to him, memories he had tried to bury away for the longest time. Everything Bucky had done for him over the years only served as a reminder that when it came down to it, he had let him down; failed him. He let him become this _thing-_ The Winter Soldier.

_“I know, I’m sorry. I just… kind of wanted to be alone.”_

_“How was it?”_

_“It was okay. She’s next to dad.”_

_“I was gonna ask…”_

_“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck, I just…”_

_“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.”_ Steve watches as the scene replays in his head, he remembers that day all too clearly, the day of his ma’s funeral. He hadn’t taken it well. Bucky and his ma were basically the only two people who had really and truly loved him for a majority of his life. They had both always been there for him, no matter what kind of trouble he had gotten himself into, and losing half of that support system so unexpectedly when his ma got sick had left him at a loss of where to go from there. He recognizes now that he had tried to push Bucky away fearing the pain of losing him unexpectedly too. He’d say he wished he would have held firm on his resolve to push Bucky away to have saved himself the pain when he actually _did_ lose him, but he knew that was never going to last. Bucky had always been his weakness.

" _Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.”_

 _“The thing is, you don’t have to.”_ To this day, decades later, Steve can recall the way all of his anxiety melted away at the comforting weight of Bucky’s hand on his shoulder. Like those big strong hands were just going to protect him from all of the troubles this world has to offer. And in a way it was true. There was nothing Bucky wouldn’t have done for him, and Steve knew it. That’s why he was so hesitant to ever accept his help, worried he would be a burden and Bucky would get tired of it; tired of him. But one look at that reassuring little half-smirk and sparkling stormy blue eyes and Steve would cave every time.

Bucky had always been there for Steve in his time of need, and Steve always wondered how he could ever repay him for all of it. He might have let him down the first time around, but he swore to himself that he wouldn’t fail him again this time. He would rescue Bucky and do whatever it took to get him back to himself or die trying. Even if he wanted nothing to do with Steve anymore once he remembered, even if he never really did remember, he owed this to him.

_“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”_

“He’s gonna be there, you know?” Sam’s voice startled Steve back to the present. He hadn’t heard Sam join him on the bridge, hadn’t even noticed when he had grabbed on to the railing, all he knew was he must have been clutching it just a little too tightly because his fingers were sore when he let go.

“I know.” He was counting on it actually; it was all part of his plan. Shut down Project Insight, dismantle Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D., save Bucky.

When Sam raised his eyebrow it was as though he could see right through Steve with his tired, discerning eyes. Steve hunched his shoulders a bit, trying to make himself as small as possible, shrinking away from the judgement.

“Look, whoever he used to be, the guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop.” Sam advised gently, almost like he could read Steve’s thoughts.

Steve liked Sam a lot. He trusted him, he admired his drive and respected the way he jumped right in to help him with all of this without being asked, he could see them becoming very close, but Sam would never get it. He could never understand just how important this was to Steve- how important _Bucky_ was to Steve. Bucky had been his everything, his arms were his shelter, his laughter his favorite song, his smile like medicine for his soul. Bucky was his home.

“I don’t know if I can do that.” He didn’t intend to try. He was getting Bucky away from his tormentors- safely.

“He might not give you a choice. He doesn’t know you.” Oh, he had a plan for that, he just hoped it would work.

“He will.” Talking about it only made Steve all the more anxious that things might not work out the way he was hoping. They needed to head out before the adrenaline and optimism ran out or he knew he wouldn’t be able to face this, and he did have to remember he had a mission first and foremost before he could even worry about Bucky. There were lives they had to save first. They needed to go now if he was ever going to keep his priorities straight and pull this off. “Gear up, it’s time.” He turned to make his way off the bridge to get suited up.

“You gonna wear that?” Sam asked in an amused tone, eyeing his casual wear.

Steve felt the corner of his mouth turn up into an amused smirk at that. “No. If you're gonna fight a war, you gotta wear a uniform.” Sure, the particular uniform he had in mind was far less practical than his stealth suit as it was less durable and offered less protection, but nobody else really needed to know that part, it was all a part of his plan to get Bucky to remember.

**. . . .**

“Hey, Cap, how do we know the good guys from the bad guys?” Sam asked as they ran out to the helicarriers. They had hoped they would have had enough support from non-Hydra affiliated S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to take them down before they could launch, but of course they weren’t that lucky. They could still do this, they were just on a time crunch.

“If they’re shooting at you, they’re bad!” Steve yelled as he jumped into action.

Immediately, the agents did in fact start shooting. Steve used his shield for cover as he ran, scrambling for shelter. Flipping over a stack of supplies, he lands right at the feet of one of the agents. Before the stunned agent has time to react, Steve quickly knocks him out and takes one of his explosives, using it to attack the other agents advancing nearby.

More agents keep coming as Steve makes his way to the helicarrier. His focus isn’t so much on taking them out as it is dodging their attacks. He bounces a few off his shield as they get in his way, and kick a few to disarm them.

“8 minutes, Cap.” Maria Hill’s voice comes through the comm device in his ear, reminding him of their tight schedule for this to work.

“Working on it!” He sends back to her, taking down a few more agents as he approaches the door he needs.

Once he’s inside things get much easier. He darts up to the bridge where the control center is and quickly changes out the original hardware for the one Hill gave him and closes the console back up.

“Alpha lock!” He reports into his comm as he rushes back out to finish the job. He hears Sam in his ear confirm that he’s locked the second helicarrier as well.

“Two down, one to go!”

As Steve makes his way to the last target, he is swarmed by agents. He outruns them and dodges their bullets, but sees them starting to set up a missile launcher.

“Six minutes” Hill counts down in his ear as he watches them aim the launcher his direction. They need to speed things up if they plan on making it out of here.

“Sam, I’m gonna need a ride.” He calls into his comm device.

“Roger! Let me know when you’re ready.” Sam verifies.

Just then, Steve hears the agents behind him fire the missile launcher at him. He jumps off the edge of the helicarrier just barely in time, feeling the heat from the explosion too close behind him for comfort as he free falls. “I just did!” he calls, needing Sam to catch him.

Sam flies in and manages to catch Steve by the arm, flying them both up to the last target. “You know, you’re a lot heavier than you look.” Sam teases him.

“I had a big breakfast.” Just as Steve finishes responding, Bucky jumps out at them from seemingly out of nowhere and shoves Steve over the edge of the helicarrier. Luckily, Steve is able to grab on to the very edge of the side of the carrier while Bucky is busy fighting with Sam.

“I’m grounded. The suit’s down. Sorry, Cap.” Sam informs him over the comms device. So he’s on his own now.

“Don’t worry, I got it.” Steve pledges, hauling himself up and inside the helicarrier.

Steve rushes up to the bridge where the control center is just like last time, only once he reaches it he comes face to face with Bucky.

Bucky looks at Steve like a predator sizing up its prey, trying to figure out the best time to strike. Steve tries to remain calm under the intense gaze, but his eyes betray just how conflicted he feels in the moment. He feels the burn of bile start to creep up in the back of his throat at the thought of having to fight Bucky, but he knows what’s at stake if he can’t get past him to switch the targeting chips.

“People are gonna die, Buck.” Steve pleads with him. “I can’t let that happen.”

Bucky doesn’t even react, doesn’t give any indication that he even heard. He has never looked less like the carefree, cocky Brooklyn boy than he does with this cold, steely blue-gray glare that’s fixed on Steve but offers not even an inkling of recognition of Steve as anything to him other than a target.

“Please don’t make me do this.” Steve chokes out, voice almost cracking as his pained expression begs Bucky to remember _something_.

They stand facing off for another few tense seconds, the longest of Steve’s life, before it becomes clear they aren’t getting anywhere. Steve doesn’t have anymore time to waste, needs to switch these chips now, so he takes a deep breath to prepare himself and strikes first. He tosses the shield at Bucky, not aiming to do damage, just distract or disarm him.

Bucky blocks the strike with his metal arm, causing it to bounce back at Steve, who catches and immediately ducks behind it as Bucky takes out a gun, aiming and firing at Steve with lightning speed. Steve advances, using his shield to block a few more bullets before one grazes his side. Gritting his teeth, Steve charges forward, hitting Bucky with the shield as he tries to advance toward Steve, successfully knocking him down and the gun out of his reach. He is back on his feet in an instant, pulling a knife from a holster in his belt.

He charges at Steve with the knife, but Steve hits his arm out of striking range before hitting him with the shield again. Bucky tries to kick Steve’s legs out from under him, but Steve blocks with a kick of his own, using his shield to knock Bucky a few feet away from him.

Steve is able to get the control console open, but before he can do anything else, Bucky is back on his feet and aims a punch at him that he just barely escapes. Raising his shield, Steve sees sparks fly from where Bucky swipes at it with his knife. Steve delivers a kick to Bucky’s arm in hopes of disarming him, but has no such luck. Bucky pivots back around to try and get in another hit at the same exact time Steve tries to level a hit with the rim of the shield. They end up in a momentary stalemate where Bucky catches the shield in one hand, but his other wrist is being held in a vice-like grip as Steve tries to get his knife away from him. A few tense seconds later he drops both the knife and the shield and Steve takes that moment to kick him straight in the chest to knock him back a few steps.

While Bucky stumbles back, Steve is able to grab the original targeting chip from the control console, but before he can replace it, Bucky comes at him again. He raises the shield just in time to miss a metal fist to the gut. He uses the shield to force Bucky back a few paces away from the control console. They face off for a few more moments shield versus arm before Steve lands a nasty hit to the face that causes Bucky to falter before charging at Steve, tackling him and knocking both of them clear off the bridge.

The replacement targeting chip falls away from Steve’s reach as they continue fending off each other’s hits. Steve jumps down after the chip, but as he runs to grab it he is knocked right off his feet by a blow to the back with his own forgotten shield. He immediately grabs the shield to avoid being shot while he is still on the ground, tossing it at Bucky as he gets back up, but he blocks with his arm, sending the shield flying in another direction away from them both.

Bucky manages to land a hit to Steve’s shoulder with his knife. Steve tries to headbutt him to knock him back, but Bucky uses this momentum to knock Steve back a few steps and pick up the discarded chip. Noticing this, Steve pulls the knife out of his shoulder and runs over to pick Bucky up by the throat like he weighs nothing before flipping him into an armlock.

“Drop it!” Steve sounds frantic, desperate to get the chip back and finish the mission in time. Bucky struggles in Steve’s hold, but maintains his firm grip on the device.

As Bucky tries to punch at Steve to get him to release his hold, Steve flips them both onto the ground so he has Bucky in a chokehold from behind, holding him still with his legs. The second Bucky falls unconscious, Steve grabs the chip and makes a mad dash back up to the control console.

“One minute!” Hill’s voice comes through in his ear just as he uses a railing to flip up a level, only one more separating him from where the console is.

As soon as he lands, he is shot in the thigh from Bucky down on the lowest level where he left him. He stumbles, but continues climbing, getting shot once more on the way, in the shoulder this time. It hurts like hell but Steve pushes through the pain and manages to climb the rest of the way up to the console.

“Thirty seconds, Cap!” Hill warns.

“Standby.” Steve pants out just as he reaches the console, pulling the chip from the compartment in his belt he had stored it in.

Just as Steve goes to put the targeting chip into the console, he feels a bullet lodge itself right in his gut, sending him right to the floor as he struggles to breathe through it. Hearing his ma’s words from a lifetime ago echo through his head, _you listen close, Steven, you always stand up,_ Steve musters up what little strength he has left and gets up, clutching onto the console for support as he slides the chip into place with just a second left to spare.

“Okay, Cap, get out of there!” Hill warns as he shuts the console.

“Fire now.” Steve tells her as he sinks back to the floor. He isn’t naïve. He knows they don’t have time to waste, and his chances of getting out of here are already looking grim. They don’t have time to wait for him to crawl out of there.

“But Steve…” Hill goes to argue. He doesn’t give her the chance.

“Do it!” He orders, squeezing his eyes shut at the pain radiating through him at the energy it takes. “Do it now.”

Steve struggles to pull himself to a standing position just as he feels the impact of the explosives hitting the helicarrier. Parts of the aircraft start falling down around him, but he holds on to the railing for support. He needs to find Bucky and get to him, he won’t leave here without him.

Just then a huge beam comes down and he hears Bucky cry out in pain over the sound of the bending metal. Looking down he sees Bucky’s leg is trapped under the beam, leaving him pinned in the spot where he had left him earlier.

The destruction going on around them is getting worse by the second, but Steve won’t stop until he gets to Bucky. He’s basically running on pure adrenaline at this point, his injuries screaming with every breath he takes and its getting difficult to keep himself upright. Rather than jumping out of the way of the damage and looking for an alternate route, Steve simply just lets himself fall to the level below him where Bucky is and it takes everything in him not to scream at the fresh wave of pain that flows through him as he hits the ground.

As the explosions continue around them, Steve shakily hauls himself up to his feet and over to the beam trapping Bucky. Willing his exhausted body to offer him one last burst of strength, Steve lifts it up just barely high enough for Bucky to get out. As Bucky struggles to get to his feet, he fixes his harsh, unwavering gaze on Steve, confusion all over his face as to why he would help him escape when he is still trying to kill him.

“You know me.” Steve explains, his features hardened in determination. He is leaving here with Bucky or not at all.

Pain explodes through Bucky’s head as his brain defiantly tries to process why Steve is so familiar to him, or if this is all just some sort of trick. He lashes out at him in anger and frustration as he struggles to figure out if he should believe him or trust in his programming.

“No I don’t!” Bucky delivers a nasty blow, knocking Steve away from him.

Steve staggers a few steps back before slowly righting himself. He approaches cautiously, hands up defensively, the way one might approach a predatory wild animal. He is visibly fighting to breathe, let alone remain standing. His hunched posture, drooping shoulders, and unsteady gate betraying exactly how much pain he is in from his ever-increasing list of injuries, and his breathing sounds almost as ragged as it did when he would get into fights as an asthmatic teenager.

“Bucky,” he pleads gently. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

Bucky seems to consider that a moment, but comes up with nothing but static in his head when he tries to recall any memory beyond programming and briefing for the mission. Frustrated at this, he settles on anger at Steve for leading him to this frustrating conclusion and rounds on him again.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve tries again gently, keeping his distance this time.

“Shut up!” Bucky pleads, the pain and static in his head getting worse every time Steve opens his mouth. He hits him again, trying to make all of it stop.

Steve throws his helmet forcefully off his head and out of sight, revealing himself to Bucky as a sort of last resort. “I’m not gonna fight ya.” There’s defeat in Steve’s voice. How fitting that after years of Bucky begging him to stop getting into fights, the only fight he’s ever walked away from is against Bucky himself. How fitting that the one fight he walks away from will probably be his last.

“You’re my friend.” He drops the shield and it falls right out of the helicarrier.

Bucky takes the opportunity to tackle Steve to the ground while he’s defenseless. “You’re my mission.” That’s all he knew for certain was that he had an opening to complete his mission, and he was programmed to seize it.

“You’re my mission!” He repeats himself, accentuating each word with a metal fist to Steve’s face, his head snapping back with the force of each blow.

“Then finish it.” Steve slurs, looking up at him out of the one eye that hasn’t swollen shut yet. There’s a sort of determined sadness in his expression. Sure, he’s probably about to die at the hands of his best friend, but to be honest, life without Bucky never really felt like living anyway. Sure, he has friends in this new century but it’s not the same, they’re actually moreso just teammates than actual friends. Nobody understands him the way Bucky did, nobody cares to even know him at all beyond the mantle of Captain America anymore. He’s tired, he’s hurting, his only regret if he were to die right now is that once again he wouldn’t be able to save Bucky. He’s failing him again. And maybe that’s what this was; maybe this was some sort of sick punishment from the universe for failing to save Bucky the first time. Maybe he deserved this.

“Cause I’m with you to the end of the line.” He echoes Bucky’s own words from decades ago as a half-hearted last attempt to get any sort of recognition from Bucky, but he was fairly certain that this right here would be the end of the line. He hopes if Bucky really is still in there somewhere, he knows Steve doesn't blame him for this, he knows it's not his fault.

Bucky raises his fist to do exactly that, finish his mission. That’s what he was created to do, after all, that’s all he knows. But those words make him pause. He knows those words. He’s _said_ those words… He’s said those words to _Steve._

Just as it’s starting to come back to him, not a lot, just flashes of memory of a life that doesn’t even really feel like his anymore, Bucky looks on in horror as the floor of the helicarrier is taken out in one of the explosions still going off around them and with it Steve falls from the aircraft into the Potomac down below.

Before he really has time to comprehend it, Bucky jumps in after him, the urgent need to save the man he was just trying to kill overriding all of his years of training and conditioning. His brain is just screaming one thing at him, reminding him that his most vital mission, one he had long before Hydra ever kidnapped him and turned him into the Winter Soldier, _Bucky Barnes’_ mission is to protect Steve Rogers.

He ignores the protests from his injuries as he hits the water and swims down to grab Steve by the uniform, hauling him up to the surface with him and dragging him to shore. Once he drops Steve’s unconscious body on the bank of the river he watches him frantically, wild eyes scanning him for any sign of life. He’s pretty sure he’s not breathing and the fear that courses through him at that thought triggers another memory: a young dark-haired boy who must be himself, untouched yet by war and the horrors of the world, sitting at the bedside of a scrawny blonde. The boy is clearly ill, he can recall feeling scared of going to sleep and waking up to find him gone, feeling the need to watch over and protect him, even from disease. Thinking about it, he thinks the blonde boy must have been Steve, they share a similar facial structure, and though he is much larger now, he sees a lot of resemblance to that smaller boy in Steve, those mile-long eyelashes, the same ocean-blue eyes, unruly wheat-colored hair flopping to one side of his head, the same faint freckles dancing across his slightly off-center nose…It's all starting to connect, slowly, fragments of memory coming back.

Bucky can no longer deny that Steve must have been right, they have shared a past. He can’t be 100% certain yet that this still isn’t some sort of trick, but he needs Steve alive to ever find out. He gets on his knees beside him and after listening to confirm he isn’t, in fact, breathing, he begins pressing on his chest hoping to get up any water he must have breathed in from the river.

After a few seconds of no change from Steve, Bucky takes a breath before tilting Steve’s head back. He pinches his nose and holds his mouth open before bringing his own mouth to it, breathing out some of his own air into Steve’s lungs. He doesn’t even know how he knows this, or if he is even doing it properly, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Laying prone before him is the only man who possibly knows who he is and what happened to him.

Bucky tries breathing into Steve’s mouth two more times before pulling away to examine him for any change. Just as he is about to give up, Steve starts coughing up water from his lungs before gasping in a large mouthful of air on his own. He still doesn’t wake up, but at least he is breathing.

Feeling relieved, Bucky plops down next to him on the bank to take stock of his own injuries. Now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off, exhaustion creeps over him and a new wave of pain radiates with each breath. He watches Steve, waiting for him to wake up, and as more memory fragments begin to return, he realizes that he almost just killed the one person it was supposed to be his mission to protect. He isn't sure what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that ended a little abruptly...Well now hopefully our boys can start recovering  
> As always, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments are always appreciated, they give me motivation, so I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter, or what you'd like to see in the future!  
> Find me on Twitter: Star_Princess31


	3. Chapter 3: Flat Lining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I am SO SORRY for the long wait for this chapter. I've had a lot of personal issues going on, but hopefully I'll be writing regularly again now.
> 
> Anyway, I decided to split this chapter into two since it was getting so long, so now this will have 5 total chapters instead of four.
> 
> PLEASE read the trigger warnings in the tags before reading, they apply pretty heavily this chapter.
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy!

While unconscious, Steve dreams. It’s a memory, from a lifetime ago, but he still remembers every detail clear as crystal.

_The smell of smoke and burnt food still lingered in his nose, if he strained his ears, he could still hear the drip of the leaky kitchen faucet. Steve had been much smaller back then, always just a little bit too cold, layered up in a couple of old sweaters even as the first blooms of spring started to pop up here and there. He remembered the brick sitting in his stomach knowing that Bucky would be home from another long day at the docks soon. He sat tracing patterns in the countless scratches on the tiny wooden table they had found by the dumpster not too long after they had moved into their shared apartment, trying to distract himself from the feeling of guilt eating at him. It was stupid really, inconsequential, but he still felt bad._

_It was Bucky’s birthday, but they didn’t have any money to really celebrate at all. Steve had fallen ill just a couple weeks prior and Bucky had spent all of their savings on his medication, against Steve’s protests that he would be fine without it. Steve felt terrible that Bucky had been working double-shifts just trying to get them some extra cash to be prepared in case, or really when, Steve were to get sick again, and he couldn’t even give him something small for his birthday. He had managed to talk a nice older woman at the market into a deal, trading her an old sketch of his for a bundle of apples, he wanted to try to recreate the apple cake his ma used to make for him and Bucky on special occasions, but he had burnt the cake terribly._

_“What’s that smell?” Steve hadn’t even heard Bucky come in, jumping a bit at the unexpected sound of his voice. “Don’t tell me you tried to make dinner again.” His tone was light and teasing, normal for them, but it only further twisted Steve’s stomach into knots. He should have known better than to try and make something so complicated, he struggled enough cooking simple things, that’s why Bucky was normally in charge of making dinner. That thought only made him feel worse, remembering that not only did Bucky have to work so much just to support them when Steve was often too ill to earn his keep, but that he then had to come home after a long day and cook for them too._

_When Steve didn’t immediately tease back or at least offer up a typical retort of “fuck you,” Bucky knew something was off._

_“Hey,” he kneeled on the floor in front of Steve’s wobbly wooden chair, putting a calloused hand on his chin to gently force him to look up at him. “What’s going on?”_

_“I…” Steve sighed, his bright blue eyes hesitantly raising to meet Bucky’s own concerned stormy gaze. “It’s so stupid. I felt awful I couldn’t get you anything and we couldn’t do anything for your birthday, so I tried to make ma’s apple cake, but I ruined it.” He huffed, crossing his arms and looking down in frustration._

_“Oh, Stevie…” Bucky offered him that signature half-smirk that was reserved just for him, before putting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him in for a quick, sloppy kiss. “Sweetheart,” Bucky pulled just far enough away to look at him with soft eyes, hand still holding firm to the back of Steve’s neck. “You didn’t need to go to all that trouble. I meant what I said, I really don’t care about my birthday, I’m just glad you’re here with me. We can always do something next year. I love you, punk.”_

_Steve’s eyes widened. That was the first time Bucky had ever said that to him. This thing between them was still so new, so fragile. They knew they were playing with fire, and had to keep up appearances, but here in the safety of their own little world they’d created in their apartment they were safe. Here they were free to be open and honest with each other. To love each other._

_“I love you too.” Steve whispered, a nervous half smile settling on his face. Bucky was right, they’d have a lifetime of birthdays to celebrate together._

_Bucky smiled back at him. “Well now, that right there is actually the best gift you could have given me.” He pulls Steve in for another gentle kiss._

_Little did they know at that time, that would be the last birthday they would be home together for._

The rest of the conversation starts to fade out and is overpowered by the sound of unfamiliar music playing softly, and the image of him and Bucky sitting in their apartment begins to drift away as Steve starts coming back to awareness, the feeling of Bucky’s lips on his lingering. Suddenly he notices all at once the stiff soreness radiating from his joints and the pain from his injuries returns full-force. Slowly, he cracks an eye open and is met first with the blinding fluorescents of the hospital, forcing him to promptly squeeze it shut again. He tries again, allowing himself more time for his eye to focus this time, and sees Sam is sitting in the chair by his bed.

“On your left.” He croaks out, voice hoarse from disuse.

This startles Sam back to alertness, the other man turning to face him with a tight smile, the red around his eyes betraying that he either hasn’t slept or has been crying- Steve is willing to bet it’s both. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

“How long was I out?” Steve winces at the shooting pain as he pulls himself into a more upright seated position.

“Been here almost 3 days. Took us a couple of hours to find you after everything went down.”

It all starts coming back to him: Bucky, the fight on the helicarrier, he could have sworn there was recognition in Bucky’s eyes right before he fell. But that’s all he remembers definitively. He thinks Bucky pulled him out of the river, but that could have just been a dream for all he knows.

“Bucky?” He asks quietly, not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Natasha is looking into it. But I think you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that he went down in the crash.” Sam explains gently.

Steve sits up a little straighter at that, gritting his teeth against the discomfort. “No.” He looks at Sam with desperate, wild eyes. “No, that’s not possible. He pulled me out of the river.”

“Are you sure?” Sam arches an eyebrow. “When we found you by the river, there was no trace of him anywhere.”

“Well I…” Steve shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “No, he had to have. I don’t even remember hitting the water, I was out already. And there was no one else there with us, so he had to have been the one to pull me out.” He also could have sworn he felt the familiar press of Bucky’s lips to his after being pulled back to shore, but that part he knows must have been a dream.

“We’ll worry about his location later.” Came a familiar voice from the doorway. Natasha. He hadn’t even heard her approach. “Right now you need to rest.”

“No, I have to find him, Nat. I’m not stupid enough to believe that whoever is still left with Hydra isn’t looking for him.” Steve huffs.

“How do you know he didn’t report back to them already?” Natasha challenges, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, he didn’t.” Steve was getting frustrated. “He remembered. Or at least he started to.” He knew he did, he swore he saw the flicker of recognition in Bucky’s eyes just before the crash. He had to hold onto that, he needed to bring him home.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at this, seemingly unconvinced, she knew how desperately Steve wanted this to be true, that he was compromised when it came to Bucky. “I’ll put some feelers out, see what I can find. In the meantime, you still need to get some rest, let yourself heal.”

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but she cuts him off before he has the chance. “You’ll be no good to anyone out in the field like this. You can’t help him until you help yourself.”

**. . . .**

Natasha and Sam leave after catching Steve up on everything he’s missed over the past few days. Natasha was handling the legal drama that came along with leaking a bunch of government-related secrets, she was optimistic that she had it under control and no punishments would be dealt to anyone of importance to what was once S.H.I.E.L.D. Sam was offered a position to help rebuild. He would be aiding in the take down of what little was left of Hydra as well as helping to regroup and form a new organization in place of S.H.I.E.L.D. They would both be heading back to New York soon to get to work and they were trying to convince Steve to join them.

Steve promised to consider it. He knew they could definitely use his help, and he would feel guilty if he didn’t do his part to deal with the fall-out of actions that were at least partially his, and it’s not like he could really stay in DC. Returning to his apartment was not an option, it wasn’t safe there anymore. There wasn’t really anything keeping him here, other than the possibility that Bucky was still here, but he could be anywhere by now. Steve definitely wouldn’t be staying in DC but he had to decide if he would be going straight back to New York and work, or if he would be following his very base instinct screaming at him to look for Bucky, worrying constantly about where he was and if he was okay. Really, between the two possibilities, his path was obvious. Based on the pitying look she left him with, he had a feeling Natasha knew this already.

It was late by the time Steve finally got his anxious thoughts of _Bucky. Where’s Bucky? Hydra? Bucky!_ to quiet down enough to allow him some sleep. Not too long after he finally shuts his eyes, they snap open at the sound of someone opening the window to his hospital room. Ignoring the protests of his aching body, Steve sits up at full alertness only to be met with the sight of Bucky landing silently in front of the windowsill. His long, matted hair is mostly tucked into a plain ball cap. Besides swapping out his armor for jeans and a sweatshirt, he looks almost exactly the same as he did when they last saw each other three days ago on the helicarrier. The only difference being his stormy gray eyes that, while still wild, are swirling with a mix of emotions Steve can’t specifically decipher, but knows it means that this is _Bucky_ that’s here with him, not the Winter Soldier. Or at least it’s the beginnings of Bucky coming back to himself, it’s clear on his face he is still confused, most likely coming here for answers that Steve is all too ready to give if it means having Bucky back home safe.

“Buck?” Steve asks shyly. “Do you know me?” He’s almost scared of the answer.

“Your name is Steve.” Bucky’s voice sounds hoarse and unsure, but somehow it’s the best sound Steve has ever heard. Hearing his name from Bucky’s lips when he thought he had lost him forever not once but twice before is like medicine for his soul. “I read about you in a museum.”

Steve does not buy that Bucky only knows him from that stupid museum exhibit, he can tell from the reserved way he is carrying himself that he is intentionally holding back, trying to distance himself from Steve not just physically.

“You pulled me from the river. If you don’t know me, why would you do that?” Steve presses, trying to keep his voice gentle and even.

“I don’t know.” Bucky lies, averting his gaze.

“I think you do.” Steve challenges.

Bucky doesn’t respond, won’t even look his way.

“Buck?” Steve tries in a gentler tone.

“Because it’s my job!” Bucky’s sudden outburst startles him. “I don’t know much, barely know who I am, but I know it’s James Buchanan Barnes’ job to protect Steven Grant Rogers.

Bucky still won’t look up at Steve, but if he would, he’d be greeted with the biggest smile Steve has cracked since waking up in this century. “Is that why you came here? To protect me? Because you don’t have to do that, pretty sure the hospital has it under control.” Steve lets out a watery laugh.

“No.” Bucky’s tone is serious. “I came to tell you to stay away.”

The smile immediately falls away from Steve’s face. He feels like he’s been struck. “Stay away? Bucky, what- I… I don’t understand. I know you must be confused, but I can _help_ you.”

“No. It’s not safe.”

“I can handle Hydra. I won’t let them get to you, Bucky. I’ll-”

“Not Hydra. Me.” Bucky’s voice is quiet, pained.

“You? Bucky, you know that those things they made you do weren’t your fault, right?” Steve watches with concern swimming in his ocean eyes as Bucky seems to consider this. Steve aches to reach out but isn’t sure how Bucky would react to the contact.

“I still did them.” Bucky challenges.

“Bucky-“

“I hurt you.” Bucky finally looks up to face him and Steve isn’t prepared for how absolutely devastated Bucky looks, the guilt evident in his stormy eyes. “It’s my job to protect you and I hurt you.”

“I don’t blame you for that, Buck. Hydra hurt _you_ a lot worse.” Steve chokes back the tears threatening to well up.

“I’m compromised, Steve. I almost _killed_ you. All the stuff Hydra put in my head is still in there, I still don’t even really know who I am without them.”

“I can help you, Buck. Don’t do this. I can help you remember, I’ll make sure they never touch you again.” Steve pleads.

“It’s too dangerous. _I’m_ too dangerous. I’m the biggest threat to you right now, so it’ll be best for both of us if I just leave.” Bucky is on the verge of tears now himself.

“Where will you go?” Steve demands.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll find somewhere to lay low for a while while I sort out what’s going on in my head.” Bucky shrugs, heading back to the window.

“Bucky, please. I just got you back.” Steve begs, a single hot tear leaving a track down his cheek.

“Don’t look for me.” Bucky spares him one last pained look before he ducks back out the window into the night.

“Bucky!” Steve calls after him, being met with only a low gust of wind in response. He lets the tears fall.

**. . . .**

Steve is released from the hospital a day and a half later with strict instructions to take things easy so as to not irritate his still recovering body. After spending every waking hour since he last saw him obsessing about where Bucky could be, Steve has no intentions to actually follow those instructions. Sam and Natasha seem to know this, even without knowing that Bucky visited Steve in the hospital. When they show up to pick Steve up, Natasha hands him a file that looks to be in Russian. Flipping the cover open, Steve feels the air leave his lungs as he is met with an old photograph of Bucky frozen in a cryogenic chamber. This must be the file kept on the Winter Soldier.

He takes a second to ground himself, closing his eyes and focusing on deep breathing as he feels himself grip the folder a little too tightly so it starts to wrinkle in his grasp. Opening his eyes, Steve flips quickly through the contents of the folder. He’ll need Natasha to translate most of it, but he finds clipped to some papers a small black and white portrait of Bucky in his army uniform. Seeing that crooked cap on his head of perfectly groomed brown locks and his equally crooked cocky smile staring back at him makes Steve feel like he’s back in 1945, listening to Bucky convince him to challenge some poor idiot to a drinking contest at a pub between missions knowing full-well that Steve can’t get drunk. Steve swallows back the emotions threatening to consume him and pockets the photograph before closing the folder.

“We know you’re going after him.” Sam sighs.

Steve nods once. “I’m burning Hydra to the ground once and for all. You don’t have to come with me.” Steve didn’t expect either of them to go with him, figured this would be a solo mission. But he should have figured his over-protective friends wouldn’t let that happen.

“I know. When do we start?” Sam asks with a smirk.

Steve smiles, genuinely smiles for the first time in a long time. He is so thankful to have Sam and Natasha in his life, to support him right now.

The trio spends the next few weeks on the road, gathering intel where they can and following loose leads on any lasting Hydra bases or agents. Almost every agent they’ve caught up to has swallowed a cyanide capsule before they could get any information out of them, or they haven’t had any useful intel for them anyway. Most of the bases they’ve uncovered have been abandoned. They take whatever files they can find and burn each base to the ground.

Steve looks for Bucky everywhere they go, searches every base for any trace of information he can find that might give him even the tiniest hint as to where Bucky could be or how to help him. Just about every base he comes up empty.

The last few bases they've hit have been a very different story. When they arrive, the bases have already been ransacked and are burning. There’s always something waiting for them outside, a pile of folders, tied up unconscious agents, flash drives of computer files, whatever they would have been retrieving from the bases themselves. It’s like someone knew what they were after and exactly when they would be there. Like someone’s been watching them, tracking their targets. Steve knows it must be Bucky.

His suspicions are finally confirmed when they reach the last base they plan on hitting for a while. As they approach they can see a cloud of smoke indicating that, once again, they are just on this side of too late and someone has already set fire to the base. Sitting outside is a few large boxes full of manila folders and paperwork, but what catches Steve’s attention is a single loose paper laying on top, held down by small stone. It’s a hastily written note.

_Punk,_

_Stop following me. Stop burning the world down looking for me._

_It’s not safe. I’m not safe to be around._

_Take care of yourself. Please._

Steve’s hands involuntarily clench into fists, crumpling the note in the process. Bucky remembers, or at least knows enough to actually be the one behind all of this. He remembers and he still wants Steve to stay away. Steve can help him, doesn’t know how exactly, but he knows he can, but Bucky doesn’t want him to. He wants nothing to do with him anymore. Steve’s whole body screams _wrong_! It feels unnatural to know that Bucky is alive and in the same time as him again, nearby too, but they aren’t physically together. _He blames you for everything that’s happened_ , a little voice in Steve’s head provides, _as he should_. Steve is physically shaking at how badly he aches just to know that Bucky is safe and okay, just to see him right now. His hands itch for a long round at the punching bag, to distract him from this consuming emotional pain with physical pain in its place. He hasn’t actually touched the bag since before the helicarrier incident, but punching Hydra goons filled the need to hit things until his hands hurt for a while, it’s been hell the last few days since he hasn’t even had that going for him.

He doesn’t know when he sank to the ground, doesn’t know when Sam and Natasha came over to his side, only knows that he can feel their hands on him, trying to haul him to his feet. They’re talking to him, but Steve can’t process any of what they are saying. He thinks he hears them say something about going back to New York, but he can’t be sure. When he finally snaps out of it, they are on a quinjet heading back to Avengers tower, he’s still clutching Bucky’s note close to his chest, Sam is watching him with concern, holding his free hand firmly in both of his own while Natasha flies the jet.

“You wanna talk about it?” Sam asks gently.

“No.” Steve forces out, surprising himself at how small his voice sounds.

“We gotta get you some help, man.” Sam insists.

“I’m fine.” Steve scoffs, pulling his hand from Sam’s and placing it in his pocket, gently running his thumb over the old photograph of Bucky he keeps there.

They’re silent the rest of the flight.

**. . .**

They’ve been back in New York for about two weeks now, and Steve is getting antsy, tired of sitting still knowing Bucky is out there alone somewhere. It’s like he can feel him slipping farther away from him by the minute.

He goes to the meetings, listens to Sam and Natasha and the few others still left from S.H.I.E.L.D. talk about their plans to rebuild, to start over completely with an entire new organization. He goes, he hears what they have to say, but he doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really care. He offers his input when they ask for it, but he doesn’t intend to be as involved with them as he was at S.H.I.E.L.D. Steve is _tired_. He’s the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix, the kind that nestles in your soul and makes your bones ache. He can’t bring himself to care about any of this, can’t really make himself care about anything other than Bucky.

It’s been another long day of meetings. Sam and Natasha sat down with him earlier to go through some more of the Hydra files they recovered from the bases they found, but so far no leads have come up. He’s growing more frustrated with their fruitless search with every passing day.

As tedious as they can feel, the days are easy. He has obligations, he has things to focus on, especially when going through the Hydra files. He looks for anything that might point him in Bucky’s direction, or even point him to another base to blow up. Finding Bucky is his primary goal, but Steve would give anything to blow off some of his pent up frustrations by taking them out on some poor Hydra asshole.

The nights are harder. Everyone goes back to their respected quarters to get some rest, to go back to their lives. But this is all Steve has. At night, once everyone else is gone, it’s too quiet, too easy for his mind to wander to thoughts and feelings he really wishes he could bury down somewhere deep where he never has to deal with them again.

Tonight is a bad one. Steve goes through the motions the same as any other night. He makes a quick dinner of spaghetti and jar sauce with a pre-packaged salad he had in his refrigerator. He takes a long hot shower to try and relax, not that it helps. He gets changed into a pair of dark blue sweats and a white tank top, and he gets ready for bed. He lays there for a long while but he can’t get comfortable and he keeps going over the information he read in the Hydra files he looked at today, combing through every sentence again and again looking for any hidden clues he may have missed the first dozen times. His eidetic memory is both a blessing and a curse, allowing him to remember every piece of information he’s looked at in those files. When his thoughts start to become too unbearably loud, he gets up, slips the photograph of Bucky back into his pocket, toes his shoes back on, and heads down to the gym.

In the gym, Steve makes a beeline for the punching bag. He should wrap his hands, he knows he should, but he can’t be bothered to. He tells himself he’ll take it easy on the bag in lieu of wrapping them, but deep down he knows he’s lying to himself.

As he makes his way over to the punching bag, he imagines some of the agents responsible for the Winter Soldier program are standing in its place. With every forceful hit he delivers he thinks of a different agent whose name he read in a report or whose photograph he saw in a file from the boxes of Hydra intel they’ve been digging through the past few weeks. He remembers all of the horrific things he’s read, both things they did to Bucky as well as other sickening horrors only a Nazi organization would be capable of executing, and he accentuates each thought with a punch to the bag. His punches start to grow sloppy as he thinks more on the unimaginable suffering Bucky must have endured for so long, he knows there’s way more beyond what’s in the vague reports they found in the files. Not for the first time today, he yearns for Bucky, just to know that he’s safe. He’s not naïve enough to hope he’s okay. He’s not sure anybody could be after everything Bucky’s lived through.

_It’s your fault he had to suffer through all of that anyway_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully. _Your fault_. He starts hitting at the punching bag more frantically, desperate for the voice in his head to just leave him alone. _You deserve to suffer_ , he thinks, _deserve much worse than that_. And suddenly the person he’s imagining his fists are making impact with is no longer some unnamed Hydra sleaze-ball but himself.

Steve’s vision begins to blur with tears as he delivers ruthless punch after punch to the bag, wishing desperately it was him who was receiving the blows. _You deserve worse than that_. Right hook. _Bucky suffered way worse than this for 70 years because of you_. Left hook. Right hook. _You never looked for him_. Left. _You did this to him_. Left. _It should have been you instead_. Right. _You should have fallen off of that train_. Right. Left. Steve doesn’t even realize he’s fully crying now, as he replays the memory of Bucky falling out of the train, just out of his grasp in vivid detail. Just as he watches Bucky fade from view, hears his desperate plea for help fade from earshot, he delivers one last reckless hit and the punching bag goes flying across the room, spilling its contents all over the gym floor.

He sinks to his knees as sobs wrack his body.

When Natasha finds him in the morning he is leaning against the wall of the gym, Bucky’s photograph grasped tightly in his bloodied hands in his lap. He hasn’t slept a wink and his head is pounding. She doesn’t say anything, not about the state he’s in, or his abused knuckles, or the mess left behind by the broken punching bag. She just helps him to his feet, walks back to his apartment with him, and cleans and bandages his knuckles before shoving a glass of water and some toast in his hands and sitting at the table across from him, making sure he eats it. Once she’s satisfied he’s eaten and drank enough, she leads him to bed and turns the lights off on her way out.

**. . . .**

A few days after his episode in the gym, Sam calls him.

“We think we found something.”

Steve’s phone falls from his hands as he sprints out the door, leaving it on the floor, Sam still on the line. He makes it downstairs to the conference room in a matter of seconds.

“What did you find?” He looks around the room with wide, hopeful eyes.

He looks about as desperate as he feels right now, dark circles like bruises under his wild eyes, hair more unkempt than normal. He’s been wearing the same gray sweatpants and white tank top since yesterday, and he hasn’t eaten yet today. He doesn’t even notice or care how out of place he looks in the conference room of his well put together colleagues. He looks around and notices Sam, Natasha, Sharon Carter, and Maria Hill are all present and all watching him with weary, concerned expressions as they take in his haggard appearance.

“Why don’t you sit down, man.” Sam breaks the tense silence.

Steve nods, taking the open seat between Sam and Natasha, bouncing his leg anxiously as he waits to hear what new information they have for him.

“So, it might be nothing,” Sam begins, shooting him a sympathetic glance. “But we found the base where they used to keep the Wi- uhh… Barnes.”

“We don’t expect him to be there,” Natasha begins, tone blunt, obviously warning Steve not to get his hopes up. “We don’t think it’ll give us any leads to where he might be hiding out. But, we might find some more information on the Winter Soldier initiative, maybe find something there that can help him.”

Steve wants to argue that whatever they find won’t be much help to Bucky if they don’t actually know where he is or how to find him, but he holds his tongue. He knows this is the biggest lead they’ve had in a while, and naively hopes that maybe they’ll run into him at the base anyway and can convince him to come home with them if they find anything there that can help him. While Steve feels a little nauseas at the thought of seeing what horrible conditions Bucky was kept in for all that time, he is looking forward to destroying that place forever and killing anyone who might be there who had a hand in hurting Bucky.

“When do we leave?” He asks.

Everyone else exchanges a sort of nervous glance before Natasha breaks the silence.

“Are you sure you’re fit for duty for this one?” She asks, glancing down at his still bandaged, but mostly healed, knuckles.

Steve’s hands clench into fists so tight, he can feel his nails pressing deep crescents into his palms.

“I’m fine.” He grits out. “This isn’t about me.” This is about getting Bucky back. He owes this to him.

Natasha raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth like she is about to challenge him, but Sam interrupts.

“Steve… We know you’re going through a lot right now. Nobody will be upset with you if you need to sit this one out.” He offers gently.

Steve furrows his eyebrows and clenches his fists even tighter. “I’m fine.” He says again, firmer this time. “And I’m going. I have to.”

“It’s okay to not be fine.” Sam pushes. “Barnes would want you to take care of yourself first and foremost. We can check out the base.”

“I have to go! I have to do this for him!” Steve yells, slamming his hands on the table. His closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down before continuing. “He always did everything for me, and when he needed me, I wasn’t there.” He won’t make eye contact with anyone. “I need to do this for him.”

No one speaks for a minute when Natasha goes right for his jugular. “Do you love him?”

Steve visibly tenses, but says nothing, eyes still downcast.

Natasha crosses her arms, looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for a response.

“Of course I love him, he’s my best friend.” Steve says unconvincingly.

“You know what I meant.” Natasha challenges.

Steve runs a shaky hand through his hair before finally looking at her with a look in his eyes like a little kid waiting to be scorned. “Yes.” He quietly chokes out.

“Hey,” Sam tries to soothe him with a comforting hand on his arm. “You know that’s okay now, right?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know. I sat through the mandatory sensitivity training after the ice.” It was less of a training really and more just some agents locking Steve in a room and explaining to him major cultural changes and historical events he missed for hours on end. It was awful, and he never wants to have to be subjected to it again, but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to the life he and Bucky could have had together if they lived in these modern times together. It didn’t matter though, he was sure Bucky wouldn’t be interested anymore, not after everything that’s happened, and that’s if he even remembered the nature of their relationship, it had still been so new when the war started and changed everything.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” He explains. “I don’t think that’s in the cards for us anymore. He doesn’t remember our relationship, and he probably doesn’t feel the same anymore even if he does. I’ll just be happy to have Bucky back at all.” Steve subconsciously feels around in his pocket for the old photograph of Bucky, running his thumb over it, desperately wishing it was actually Bucky here with him.

Natasha watches him curl in on himself a little before she stands abruptly, making her way to the door with a determined expression. “Meet at the quinjet in an hour.” She calls over her shoulder as she exits the room.

**. . . .**

Steve feels numb as he gets suited up for the mission. He knows he should be feeling ecstatic that they are going to be taking down the place where Bucky was kept for so long, going after the people who hurt him. This is good, he thinks, that they won’t be able to hurt Bucky anymore. Maybe he should even expect to feel sort of nervous that he’s going to see the harsh conditions Bucky was forced to live in, to see the things they did to him first-hand. But he can’t bring himself to feel anything. None of it matters if Bucky isn’t here. Sure, they’ll be helping him by eliminating part of the threat Hydra poses to his safety, but they can only tangibly help him so much without knowing where he is.

Steve finishes getting ready and makes his way to the hangar where the quinjet is. He’s the first one there, but only has to wait a few minutes before Sam and Natasha arrive. They show up together, talking to one another in hushed tones, and the conversation stops as soon as they catch sight of Steve sitting on a bench waiting for them. He knows they were probably talking about him, knows they’ve been really worried about him lately, but he can’t bring himself to care about it too much when his mind is somewhere else entirely.

“Carter and Hill should be here any minute and then we can take off.” Natasha explains before heading into the quinjet to get everything ready for takeoff.

Sam joins him on the bench. They don’t say anything, and Steve is grateful for that, he’s not sure what he would even say at this point, and Sam seems to sense that talking is the last thing he wants to do right now, but his presence is reassuring. He puts a comforting hand on Steve’s arm, silently letting him know that he’s there to support him, even if he doesn’t want to talk right now.

Sharon Carter and Maria Hill show up soon after and they all board the quinjet, getting settled before Natasha gets them in the air.

When they touch down, Steve is the first one up from his seat. The doors open and he and Nat are the first ones out. They split up, Steve goes with Nat one way, Sharon and Maria go the other, and Sam takes off to be their eyes in the sky. For as nervous and in his head as he was the whole way here, Steve is incredibly focused now that they’ve arrived. There’s an almost comforting familiarity as he feels his other thoughts and feelings get shoved to the very back of his mind and he slips into mission mentality with ease.

They find the hidden entrance and Steve kicks the door in. Natasha runs past him to sneak in before any guards come to investigate. Two come running and Steve knocks one out with his shield while Natasha flips the other, dropping him to the concrete floor with a thud. Once they come to the end of the dimly lit hallway, they split up as planned. Natasha heads to the upper level to see what intel she can steal from their main database and Steve heads down to what he can only describe as a prison. The basement level is damp and incredibly dark, it smells like mold and he can hear rats in the walls and some of the crevices of the halls. He encounters a group of agents and punches his way through them before they can even raise their weapons at him. The contact stings deep in his not-quite-healed knuckles, but he relishes in the high of feeling _something_ , plus it puts a smirk on his face to know that at least the Hydra goons facing his wrath are in way more pain than he is.

From what he can hear through the comms device in his ear, everyone else is doing well for themselves as well. Sam is taking out some of the armed guards around the perimeter and the watch tower, Natasha is working on hacking into their system, Sharon is trying to identify their highest ranking agents to take them into custody, and Maria is planting explosives so that they can burn this place to the ground on the way out. Sure, they’ve each gotten into a few scuffles along the way, but so far it’s nothing they can’t handle.

Steve freezes as soon as he sees the cell. He’s passed a few since he turned down this hall, each one more depressing to look at than the next, but this one was Bucky’s, he just knows it. He can tell by the heavily enforced restraints on the wall, recognizes them from photographs from some of the files they’d gone through. The metal table that was meant to serve as a bed is disheveled and there’s evidence of a fight. It looks like they dragged him out of here the last time he was here, _and they probably did_ , he thinks ruefully. Swallowing back the bile threatening to rise in his throat at the sight of dried blood stains on the floor, Steve continues down the hall.

He comes to a guarded door and takes down both guards before breaking the door down. Inside is some sort of science lab, and Steve refuses to even let himself think about what kinds of “experiments” they must have needed this for. He starts tearing through drawers and cabinets, looking for any kinds of files or reports. He rips the biggest drawer off of its track and just starts throwing every file he finds in it. Once he’s sure he’s grabbed all the ones he can find, he starts back toward the door, pausing when he needs to skirt around a metal table with restraints built into it.

Steve sees red at the sight of the table. Suddenly he’s not even in this ratty Hydra base anymore, but an even more grim one, with less fancy technology.

_He’s back in Azzano, back in the war. He’s running through a different Hydra base, bigger than this one but not as advanced. The sounds of the factory and the prisoners he’d freed fighting their way out fill his ears. The smells of mold and blood and oil threaten to suffocate him. He doesn’t care though, he runs to the room the other prisoners told him about blindly hoping that he’ll find Bucky there, that he’ll find Bucky alive. He bursts through the doors and finds Bucky strapped to a table, unmoving, unresponsive. He thinks for an agonizingly terrifying moment that he’s dead until he hears him mumbling to himself his name and serial number, desperately trying to ground himself to reality. Steve makes quick work of freeing him, an overwhelming need to get Bucky out of there filling him completely._

A long moment passes before Steve remembers where he is. As the images from Azzano leave his mind, he is filled suddenly with an insatiable rage. Rage at Hydra for everything they’ve done to Bucky both here and back in the war as well as all that time in between, rage at himself for letting it all happen. In a swift move, he raises his shield and brings it down on the table. He does it again. He repeats the motions again and again until he has completely destroyed the table and every machine surrounding it. He is panting with rage and exertion by the time he is finished, wiping a stray tear away swiftly before it can fall. Just for good measure he raises his foot to kick one of the broken pieces of equipment before exiting the lab.

Back in the hallway, Steve turns a series of corners laid out almost like a maze before he gets to his final destination here. The door is heavily reinforced so it takes him a couple of powerful kicks to knock it fully off of its hinges. The air leaves his lungs like he’s been punched as soon as he walks in the room and is met with the sight of chair. He doesn’t know exactly what it does, but has seen enough photos and reports from the files to know it was used as some sort of torture on Bucky, electrocution of some kind had been their best guess. He honestly didn’t want to know exactly what sort of pain this chair caused, only knew that he couldn’t wait for it to be swallowed up in flames. He was, however, apparently vastly unprepared to see it in person, because Steve was finding it impossible to tear his eyes away from it, let alone move away. He’s so distracted by the sickening thought of Bucky being trapped in this dank room, strapped to this chair that looks like it came straight out of a horror movie, that he doesn’t notice the Hydra agent hiding behind the control panel, doesn’t hear the man get up until he feels the bullet lodge itself in his shoulder.

“Shit!” He swears, swinging around to toss his shield at the agent.

Just as the agent hits the ground, another one rounds the corner into the room, eyeing the one on the ground before raising his weapon to point it at Steve. Steve follows his gaze to see the first agent dropped a worn red notebook with a fading black star in the center of the corner. Steve looks from the agent on the ground to his shield beside him to the one standing. The agent clearly wants to grab the book so it must be important, but he can’t get to it without getting past Steve. Steve can’t quite reach his shield without potentially startling this guy into shooting. Making a split second decision, Steve dives for the book, tossing it into the busted drawer under his arm with the science lab files. Just as he tosses it in he feels himself get shot again, in the leg this time, but it doesn’t feel like a normal bullet. Curiously, he looks down and sees a huge tranquilizer dart of some sort sticking out of his leg.

Normally, a single tranquilizer dart wouldn’t really have much of an effect on him, but judging by where they are right now and the fact that he already feels sluggish and weighed down, he assumes these were made with the Winter Soldier in mind. Between the enhanced formula and the blood he’s already lost from getting shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep his already fluttering eyes open.

While Steve quickly evaluates himself, the agent grabs the actual gun from the unconscious agent on the ground and takes aim. Steve’s arms feel impossibly heavy, and his shoulder is screaming at the sudden movement, but he is able to grab his shield from its place on the ground and at least raise it to defend himself.

He hears the shot, but doesn’t feel another bullet hit him, or bounce off of the shield. A second later he hears the man’s body hit the ground. Confused, and barely able to fight off unconsciousness, Steve lowers his shield back to the ground. The last thing he sees through his swimming vision before tranquilizer-induced sleep claims him is Bucky standing over him, gun still raised and pointed to where the agent had been standing just seconds prior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhhhhh sorry this chapter was kind of dark. I promise it gets so much better for the rest of it, all the actual recovery stuff was in what would have been the second half of this chapter, so that will be chapter 4. But our boys are finally reunited and now they can work on getting better together.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment either letting me know what you think or what you'd like to see in the future. Your comments are like my biggest motivation, they bring me so much joy. I will hopefully be posting chapter 4 MUCH sooner than I got this one up, so stay tuned for that.
> 
> Find me on twitter: Star_Princess31


	4. Chapter 4: CPR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! I am SO SORRY for the long wait, I've had a whole lot going on. To make up for it, here is a MASSIVE chapter.
> 
> As usual, please check the tags for trigger warnings, and I hope y'all enjoy!

Steve feels a heavy stiffness throughout his body as he starts to come back to himself. His eyes are still closed, but he starts to regain alertness. The first thing he notices before he even cracks his eyes open is that there is someone in the room with him. He thinks to himself that it must be Natasha, but the hand holding his own is too large, it belongs to a man, so it must be Sam he deduces. A quick second later he realizes the feel of this hand is familiar, _very_ familiar. _Bucky_. It all comes back to him. He remembers everything until he blacked out, storming the base, seeing the chair, getting shot and then hit with a tranquilizer. Most importantly, he remembers Bucky showing up, coming to his rescue like always. He would think he hallucinated that part if it weren’t for the heavy weight of his calloused hand holding onto Steve’s own like a lifeline.

Slowly, he cracks his eyes open, giving them time to adjust to the lighting in the room. Even feeling as groggy as he still does, he immediately knows he is in his own bed in his apartment in the tower. His sore body protests as he pulls himself into more of a seated position. He rolls his injured shoulder to find it already working on healing itself but can tell someone has bandaged it for him anyway. He looks down at the hand in his own, trailing his gaze to the person attached to it. As he expected, Bucky is sitting hunched over in his desk chair which he must have pulled over to the very edge of his bedside. He can see the worry swimming in his storm cloud gray stare, even through the thick greasy brown locks falling in his face. He must have changed clothes since they arrived, as he is no longer in his tactical gear but instead a pair of Steve’s workout sweatpants and a hoodie. Steve is almost scared to break the heavy silence between them, scared this may all be a dream yet, that Bucky may disappear once again.

“Bucky?” He asks hesitantly, his voice still hoarse with the remnants of sleep.

“Hey, pal.” Bucky offers him a half smirk, even though his voice has none of the playful lightheartedness in it he would expect to accompany the look.

“Are you really here?” Steve feels the need to verify, voice coming out smaller than intended, betraying his desperation.

“Yeah, Steve, I’m really here.” Bucky shifts, dropping his hand, to grab him a glass of water off his night table. Steve immediately misses the comforting weight of Bucky’s hand in his own. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Buck.” Steve rolls his eyes, draining the glass in one large gulp before putting it back on the night table.

"Do you remember what happened?”

“It’s fuzzy.” Steve admits. “I remember getting shot, taking out some Hydra agent and grabbing some sort of book or file or something, and getting hit with like a tranquilizer or something. I don’t remember anything after that except seeing you.” He offers Bucky a shy grin.

“I took out the agent that hit you with the tranquilizer and carried you back to your team. They flew us back here. Pulled the bullet out of your shoulder and wrapped it up. You’ve been sleeping since then. About 3 hours since we landed.” Bucky explains quietly, eyes distant, almost glazed over entirely.

“What were you doing there anyway?” Steve asks nervously.

Bucky sits up a little straighter at this, not only coming back to the present, but seemingly irritated. “Besides saving your ass?” He quips. “I warned you to stop, told you to stay away. You weren’t taking care of yourself, being reckless as always, so as usual I had to step in to keep you safe. It’s my job to protect you, because apparently when I’m not around you won’t do it for yourself.”

“Bucky-” Steve is torn. Part of him is elated, this is the old Bucky he knows and loves. This conversation is all too common for them, or at least it was at one point in time. But another part of him feels immense guilt setting in at the realization that even after everything Bucky has gone through- _because of you_ \- his brain reminds him, Bucky is still worrying about Steve instead of being able to focus on his own issues.

“I don’t want to hear it, Steve. You got what you wanted, I’m here. You can thank your own stupidity. Because apparently, I can’t trust you not to set the world on fire, and yourself, if I leave again.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I just wanted to help you.” Steve admits sheepishly, unable to even meet Bucky’s gaze.

“And this helps who, exactly?” Bucky accuses, glancing to Steve’s now healed, but still bandaged, knuckles.

“I-” Steve’s hands clench into tight fists instinctively, pressing crescents into his palms. Bucky immediately covers his hands with his own, pulling his fingers away from their assault on his hands. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.” Steve whispers, squeezing his eyes shut against the threat of tears. “For everything.”

Bucky softens at this, sitting back casually in his seat. “I thought I was the biggest threat to you. I was wrong.” He admits quietly. “Leaving you to suffer on your own, that was the biggest threat to your safety. I should have known you’d do whatever it takes to come after me, find some crazy reason to beat yourself up about all of this.”

“So… What happens now?” Steve asks nervously.

“We work on getting better.” Bucky offers him a nervous smile.

Steve smiles back.

**. . .**

“Getting better” is more complicated than Steve anticipated. Bucky moves into the spare room in Steve’s tower apartment. That part isn’t so bad; they’ve been in each other’s back pockets most of Steve’s life. What takes some adjusting is how different everything is from the last time they lived together decades ago. They used to feel so at ease with one another, joined at the hip, each one merely an extension of the other. Now, they might as well be strangers. It’s painfully obvious to Steve that Bucky’s guard is up constantly, and while he sort of expected it, it doesn’t make it sting any less when Bucky goes silent and unresponsive for hours on end or jerks away from even an accidental brush of the shoulders as he passes him in the apartment. Touch once came so natural to them, going out of his way to avoid it entirely is a challenge he never expected he’d have to prepare for. Conversation with each other about everything and nothing once filled so much of their days, even silence between them never felt forced or uncomfortable, but the silence that has become an almost permanent fixture in Steve’s apartment threatens to suffocate him. Every cell in his body aches to just pull Bucky firmly into his arms, every part of him feels wrong being so close to him physically but so distanced emotionally.

Things only get harder once they get the call from Natasha. While they’ve been spending the last week trying to learn to live together with this strange new normal, she’s been busy translating and sorting information from the files and, more importantly, the notebook recovered from the base. It’s late when she calls; Bucky has already gone to his room for the night. Steve knows he most likely isn’t sleeping but hates to disturb him on the off-chance he is resting. He hears the screams and whimpers from Bucky’s room at night, sees the bruise-like circles under his eyes every morning. He knows Bucky doesn’t get very much sleep, and when he does it’s fitful at best. Not that Steve has been sleeping much better himself, but that’s nothing new for him. He probably hasn’t had a decent night’s rest since 1938, unless you count the 70 years he was frozen.

He answers the call on the second ring.

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice, as usual, gives nothing away.

“What did you find?” Steve keeps his voice lowered to not disturb Bucky, but he knows his desperation is still evident.

“That notebook you recovered. It had all of their notes on the programming and training they drilled into him.” Natasha explains gently. “It’s not pretty, Rogers.”

“Shit.” Steve curses softly under his breath. He nervously runs the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “There’s gotta be something in there we can use to help him, right?” He asks, trying to keep his voice level.

“I talked to Bruce. He thinks if he studies the conditioning methods, he can figure out a plan to reverse it or make it less effective or something.” She reassures him. “But, Rogers, I really need you to prepare yourself for the possibility things might not change that much. He might not ever get better or remember everything. Even if he does, he won’t be the same guy you remember. He’s been through so much.”

“I don’t care, Nat.” Steve grits. “I know that already, but I owe it to him to do whatever I can. And if nothing works then I’ll still be here doing whatever I can to make things more bearable for him and keeping him safe at the very least.”

“It’s not gonna be easy.” She warns. “Everything about this situation is going to be very hard, on all of us, but especially on you and him.”

“This isn’t about me.” Steve shrugs off her concern, hand instinctively curling into a fist, digging his nails into the skin of his palm.

She sighs at that but doesn’t say anything right away.

“Alright, just… Go get some rest, please. We’ll update as soon as Bruce has some sort of plan.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to sigh. He hates this, waiting, not being able to actually do anything. Realistically he knows there’s not really anything he _can_ do right now, but he still hates feeling useless when all he really wants is to help.

“I can hear you overthinking from here.” Natasha chides after he doesn’t respond. “We’ll figure this out. We’re working around the clock on this, really. It’s top priority.”

“Why?” Steve whispers.

“Because we care about you, dummy. We just want to see you happy.” He can hear her smirk in her voice. “Also, fuck Hydra. I know at least a little of the hell Barnes is going through, I’d like to see him come out of it okay. It would be the biggest middle finger to those assholes.”

They hang up soon after that after exchanging goodnights and promises to check-in soon, Natasha with updates on their findings and plans going forward and Steve with updates on how he and Bucky are adjusting.

It’s about three days later when she calls to say Bruce has set up a meeting to discuss his theories and ideas for Bucky’s recovery.

**. . .**

It sounds so simple when Bruce explains it. They were able to get Bucky to comply with their orders through a very extreme take on classic Pavlovian conditioning. Basically, once they wiped his brain of any personal memories, essentially stripping him of his identity, they would have introduced the trigger words and followed them up with a series of orders and beat or tortured him when he ignored them. This process would have gone on until finally the words alone would instill the fear of violence in him enough that he would comply with their orders. For continuity purposes they would wipe his memories and use the trigger words after most missions and anytime he seemed to remember something they didn’t think he should. So, to undo the conditioning, they would need to say the same set of trigger words but follow them up with reassurances of safety, that there was no mission to complete, no orders to comply with. They would have to reassure him of his freedom and personhood. They would repeat this process until the trigger words proved ineffective for their original purpose.

Bruce said he would need to do a brain scan to be 100% certain, but his theory on Bucky’s memory was that they had found a way to block the neurons attached only to specific long-term memories. Since after each memory-wipe he seemed to retain essential skills and memories related to his Hydra conditioning, their technology must have only targeted extremely specific neurons with enough electricity to impair the function of those neurons. His prevailing theory was that the longer Bucky went without the electric currents targeting those neurons, the more they would heal and the more he would remember, which is why they had to wipe his memory so often. So, the longer Bucky was free from Hydra, the more memories would start coming back to him, naturally. De-conditioning the trigger words could possibly help with that too, and he even suggested that once some of his memories started coming back on their own, prompting certain memories might help as well.

It would be simple, right?

It sounded simple when Bruce explained it all like that, but really, it was anything but.

**. . .**

Bucky reluctantly consents to the brain scans, only with Steve there, and only at Bruce’s hand, no other doctors. He doesn’t trust Bruce, but Steve does, and he trusts Steve. The scans confirm everything Bruce had hypothesized.

They get an examination room ready for the de-conditioning. It’s a small room with dim, yellow lighting, cream colored walls, and dark wooden flooring. The only things in the room is a bed with lots of pillows and soft blankets, all in neutral tones, and beside it a small dark oak table with a pitcher of water on top and a drawer containing protein bars- no one knows how long they’ll be in there. On the wall opposite of the bed sits a large two-way mirror leading to a small office with a computer to display the footage and audio feed from the two security cameras in the corners of the room as well as to be able to monitor Bucky’s vital signs from the small device they were to attach to his chest before each session. Huddled around the desk that holds the large computer monitor sits frankly an obscene amount of chairs for such a small room, but Bruce knows Sam and Natasha will force their way in here with him along with two nurses, and a couple of other remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in case they need reinforcements quickly. Bruce didn’t think it would be necessary, stating that since Bucky had gone without a memory wipe for so long, it might be easier to bring him back to himself in an emergency situation than it had on the helicarrier, but Sam and Natasha wouldn’t even entertain the idea of not having back-up ready just in case.

Steve had insisted to be the one to go into the room with Bucky and read the trigger words and then pull him back into reality. Sam and Natasha had, of course, immediately protested this, Natasha claiming it was too dangerous since the last time Steve faced the Winter Soldier he had almost died, and Sam adding that it would be way too taxing on Steve’s emotions and mental state to have to go through that. Steve wouldn’t even entertain the idea of someone else doing it though, and while Bucky himself had his hesitations about letting Steve potentially put himself at risk and see him like that, he couldn’t think of anyone else he would trust to do it either.

“I’m the only person he trusts right now!” Steve had argued. “And besides, I’m the least likely to get killed if something does go wrong.”

The deal was made that Steve would do it, but only under heavy supervision, and at the first sign of danger he was to duck out and let their reinforcements restrain Bucky until he came back to himself again. They had come up with a code signal for Steve to use if he felt overwhelmed or like Bucky was out of control, though they weren’t naïve enough to believe he would actually use it even if necessary, so Sam and Natasha had demanded to be in the observation room to be able to make that call themselves if they felt it necessary.

All of this preparation still couldn’t prepare Steve for the sinking feeling in his stomach as soon as Bruce leads him into the room with Bucky about two steps behind.

They had decorated the room in neutral tones and dim lighting to give it a more calming feeling than a normal hospital room or lab, but that doesn’t change the fact that as Steve walks in the first words that come to mind are sterile and impersonal. It doesn’t help that he feels an impending sense of doom and anxiety for what he knows they’re here to do. Steve didn’t get very much sleep and he doubts Bucky did either, both far too nervous about the possibility of this going _very_ wrong, of Bucky losing himself and attacking, of not being able to come back to the present again, of him not remembering. Both of them worry especially over the safety of the other. Steve tries to keep a brave face for Bucky’s sake, but he’s practically vibrating out of his skin with nerves, his hands itching to get a round in on the punching bag to distract him from his deafening thoughts.

As they enter the room, trying to get Bucky settled and comfortable in bed, Steve clenches and unclenches his fists a few times, trying to will himself the strength to just get through this. He knows this is going to be hard, to have to watch Bucky go through this, but it’s necessary and he has to keep it together because if he freaks out he knows Bucky will too and then they won’t be able to make any progress. He owes this to Bucky, he reminds himself. He has to do everything he can to undo the evil done to him _because of you_ , his brain supplies.

Taking one last grounding breath, Steve gives Bruce the signal that they’re ready to get started. Bruce nods solemnly, shutting the door behind him as he ducks back into the observation room on the other side of the two-way mirror. His voice crackles through the overhead speaker a second later, “Whenever you’re ready, Cap.”

Steve waits for Bucky to give him a nod to pick up the notebook from where Bruce left it on the bedside table. Steve takes one last look at Bucky, giving him one last chance to change his mind before he cracks the book open to the bookmarked page containing his trigger words. Steve allows himself to close his eyes and take one last shaky breath to clear his head before he starts.

“Longing.”

Bucky tenses up.

“Rusted.”

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Seventeen.”

He fists some of the blankets on the bed.

“Daybreak.”

“Please, no.” Bucky whimpers. Steve’s heart clenches painfully, but he knows he has no choice but to continue.

“Furnace.”

Bucky’s whimpering gets louder and Steve has to close his eyes for a second before continuing.

“Nine.”

Bucky is fully crying now, and Steve grits his teeth, fighting every base instinct in his body screaming at him to _stop! Help Bucky!_

“Benign.” He grits out.

Bucky starts thrashing on the bed, shaking his head side to side violently.

“Homecoming.”

“Steve!” Bucky cries. “Please, no!”

“One.” Steve tries to keep his voice level but can’t stop it from cracking with emotion.

Bucky seems to stop fighting, hanging his head low, eyes squeezed shut, muscles tensing like he’s bracing himself for something terrible.

“Freight car.” Steve almost can’t force himself to say it.

Bucky snaps to a straight-backed seated position. He seems on edge, eyes glazed over but fully at attention.

“Ready to comply.” He mumbles with a slight Russian tilt to his voice, like he’s afraid to speak too loudly without being directly addressed first. Steve’s heart breaks for him.

“Alright, Cap. Just like we talked about, remind him where he is, and that he’s safe. Tell him who he is and that he’s not a weapon anymore, no more orders for him.” Bruce’s voice crackles through the overhead speaker, but Steve doesn’t hear it, not really. He’s too focused on taking in Bucky’s rigid body language, the deep-set fear in his facial features. His eyes have almost changed color, resembling a dark steel gray instead of their usual stormy blue, and he looks ahead unfocused and detached.

“Bucky?” Steve tries gently.

“Ready for mission briefing.” Bucky reports.

Steve licks his lips, taking a step closer to the bed.

“No, Bucky. No mission.”

Bucky cocks his head in confusion at this.

“Do you know where you are, Buck? Do you know who I am?” Steve asks hopefully.

Bucky seems to take in his surroundings for a moment, but he still looks confused. “Handler.” He says, looking to Steve.

Steve feels bile rise in the back of his throat at the thought. “No, Bucky. Not a handler. Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide, and he quickly gets to his feet, assuming a defensive position. “Steven Rogers. Target. Level six. You’re my mission.”

He has the same wild, conflicted look in his eyes that he did on the helicarrier. Steve can work with conflicted. He’s done it once before.

“No more missions, Bucky.” Steve soothes. “You’re free. You’re safe. Hydra can’t get to you here. I’m your friend.”

Bucky seems to consider this a moment before shaking his head violently. “You’re lying!” He shouts, leaping at Steve.

Steve sees it coming and braces himself, catching Bucky in a tight grip and lowering them both to the floor.

“I’m not lying, Buck. You’re safe. I’m here. Till the end of the line, remember?”

Bucky tenses in his hold. “I know those words.” He whispers. “I know you.” It almost sounds like he’s asking.

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Yeah. You’ve known me since we were kids.”

When Bucky stops struggling, Steve slowly lets him go, sitting up on the floor beside him. Bucky sits up too a second later.

“Hydra?” Bucky asks, wild eyes taking in the room around them.

Steve’s heart clenches at the fear evident in Bucky’s features. He reaches out a hand to put on his shoulder, aching to comfort him, but as he sees Bucky flinch at the movement, he stops himself, curling his hand into a fist instead.

“Hydra can’t hurt you anymore, Bucky. You’re free now. You’ll be safe here.”

“Who is Bucky?”

Steve almost whimpers. “You are. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You’re my best friend in the world. I- I lost you to Hydra for a while, but I swear on my life, I will keep you safe now.”

Bucky seems to think about this. “Are you my new handler?”

Steve bites his lip to keep from airing his frustration and heartbreak. “No more handlers. Ever.” He grits. “You’re your own person now. Free.”

“Free?” Bucky tries the word out like it feels foreign. “No mission?” He asks in a small, scared voice, like he’s waiting to be punished for even thinking it.

“No missions. No more orders.” Steve assures him.

They go back and forth like this for another few minutes, that seem to pass by like hours to Steve. Eventually Steve does coax Bucky back into the bed, where he immediately curls around himself into a tight ball. Steve awkwardly stands there for a moment, before looking toward the door, debating if he should give Bucky some space.

“Stay.” Bucky asks in a broken whisper.

Steve doesn’t need to be asked twice. He hesitantly sits on the edge of the bed and Bucky immediately scoots closer. Steve aches to comfort him, he still seems so scared, making himself as small as possible, but he isn’t sure how Bucky will react. Bucky closes his eyes, trying to sleep, but Steve can hear his terrified whimpers under his breath. He decides to risk it, slowly going to stroke Bucky’s hair. Bucky flinches as his hand makes contact but relaxes as soon as he starts moving it.

“You’re alright, Buck. No punishments. No orders. No more violence. You’re safe now. You’re free.” Steve continues whispering reassurances until Bucky’s breathing evens out.

Once Steve is completely sure that Bucky is deeply asleep and not waking up soon, he slips as quietly as he can from the room and makes a beeline for the gym, hitting the bag until his knuckles are bloody.

Steve comes back to the observation room right after, where only Bruce and Natasha remain watching Bucky sleep and monitoring his vitals. She takes one look at him, at his hastily bandaged hands, and sighs, shaking her head. He tiredly slumps down into the chair beside her. He knows she’s disappointed, knows Bucky will be too, hell _he’s_ disappointed in himself, but he needed to do _something_ to distract himself from his racing thoughts about everything Bucky has had to go through, everything his brain won’t let him forget he caused. The stinging pain of his self-imposed punishment seems to be the only force strong enough to tear his focus away from the crushing weight of his guilt, even if only for a little while.

Bucky wakes up not long after, a little groggy, and quiet as he has been since moving into the tower, but seemingly back to himself. His eyes have returned to normal and his voice doesn’t carry that strange accent anymore.

“Do you know who I am?” Steve asks gently.

“Steve. I’m Bucky. We… We were supposed to test the words. What did I do?” He looks nervous, looking Steve over for any sign of injury, frowning when his gaze lands on Steve’s knuckles.

Steve self-consciously shoves his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t attack anyone, Buck. Mostly you just seemed scared. Confused.”

Bucky stares into his eyes judging if he should believe him for a long moment before nodding once and heading back to their apartment. Steve sighs like each of his 90+ years of life have all caught up to him at once before joining him.

**. . .**

They have these de-conditioning sessions every couple of days for the next few weeks. For the most part, they all go the same way. There is only one session that goes very wrong.

Just as Steve finishes the last word, Bucky sits at attention like he has every time so far, but there’s a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Steven Rogers. Target. Level six.” Is all he says, before lunging at Steve.

Steve hadn’t been ready for it. Bucky successfully knocks him to the floor, straddling his waist as he delivers a few nasty blows to his face with his metal hand.

Steve manages to flip them, pinning Bucky’s arms as he sits on top of his thighs.

“Come on, Bucky. You know me!” Steve pleas. “I’m your friend! No more missions, no more orders. Hydra can’t get to you here!”

“You’re my mission!” Bucky yells, thrashing violently.

He’s able to get his metal hand from Steve’s grasp and shoves him to the floor. Getting to his feet, Bucky picks Steve up by his throat and shoves him against the nearest wall, keeping his metal hand around his windpipe.

The door slams open and Natasha runs in.

“Soldat!” She barks in fully accented Russian.

Bucky looks to her nervously.

She gives him a few orders in Russian and he drops Steve, kneeling in front of her, mumbling what he can only assume are apologies in Russian.

Sam hurries in and rushes over to where Steve is regaining his breath on the ground, checking him over.

“I’m fine!” Steve shrugs him off, making his way over to where Bucky is still kneeling, hanging onto every word Natasha is saying that Steve doesn’t even know how to translate.

“Buck…” Steve feels bile rising in the back of his throat at the scene in front of him. Obviously, he knows Natasha would never do anything to hurt him, but it still paints an unpretty picture that Steve thinks looks a little too similar to those uncovered Hydra files. Sam gets Steve to his feet and after some argument gets him to wait in the observation room, but Steve can’t tear his eyes away.

“Ready to submit for disciplinary action.” Bucky mumbles, hanging his head.

Steve throws up in the trash can in the observation room.

Bucky and Natasha speak to each other back in forth in Russian for a long while before he seems to relax. She says something to get him into bed and he lays there, nervously looking over his shoulder for any threats for a while before finally drifting off into fitful sleep. Natasha casually walks back into the observation room like she didn’t just save Steve’s life. The fact that she did is the only reason he can’t bring himself to be mad at her for not offering Bucky any kind of comfort.

Sam puts a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder as they anxiously wait to see what happens when Bucky wakes up. Normally he is just confused for a brief moment and a little groggy. He never remembers what happened after Steve says the trigger words, and once he’s been updated, he normally goes up to the apartment to be alone for a while. This time he wakes up wide-eyed and scared, and when Steve walks in to comfort him, he takes one glance at the handprint-shaped bruise forming around his throat and the already purpling splotch under his eye and sprints up to his room. He doesn’t come out for over a day and when he does, he doesn’t say anything, can’t even bring himself to look directly at Steve at all.

**. . .**

The next time they try isn’t for almost a week. Bucky is too anxious he’ll do something he’ll regret. Steve can’t blame him for being nervous but reminds him that progress isn’t linear, and they won’t get anywhere if they don’t try again. Bucky gives him a thorough once-over before reluctantly agreeing.

“But if I try to hurt you, get outta there.” Bucky begs. “You were the Soldier’s last mission. He won’t stop until he kills you.”

Steve agrees but just to placate him. He has no intention of leaving Bucky to struggle on his own.

Things go smoothly though. Well, comparatively. The sessions continue to go about as well as the first couple of tries, until a few weeks later, when they finally start to see some improvement.

“Freight car.” Steve nervously holds his breath as he finishes the last trigger word.

Bucky slowly blinks up at him from his place in bed. “Steve?’ He whispers in a small voice.

“Buck?” Steve asks hopefully.

Bucky offers him a hesitant nod.

“How you feeling, Bucky? Do you know where we are?”

“We’re in Avengers tower, in an observation room.” It almost comes out like a question. “Checking the- the words.”

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve smiles shyly. “And? Doesn’t seem like they worked. You feeling okay?”

“I- Yeah, good. Great.” Bucky gives him a nervous grin. “It really worked?” He quickly blinks a few times against the threat of tears.

“I think so.” Steve beams.

“Alright guys, this is great progress!” Bruce’s voice crackles through the overhead speaker, startling both of them out of their hesitantly celebratory thoughts.

“I’d just recommend staying in there a few more minutes to keep an eye on things. I don’t foresee any kind of delayed reaction, but just as a safety precaution.” Bruce adds.

Steve and Bucky just cautiously hold each other’s gaze for a long few moments, before Bucky pushes down his nerves, scooting over and patting the space beside him in bed.

“Might as well get comfortable.” He teases.

Reluctantly, Steve climbs into bed beside him. He’s hyperaware of how close they are and makes a point to keep as much distance between them as possible, not wanting to startle Bucky. He folds his hands over his stomach, laying stiff as a board on his back at the very edge of the bed.

Beside him, Bucky lays on his side facing Steve. Taking in Steve’s stiff posture, Bucky rolls his eyes, before draping an arm over him and pulling him as close as possible.

“What’s wrong, punk? Do I smell that bad?” He teases.

Steve feels every muscle in his body relax, everything seeming to slot back into its rightful place at the feeling of being in Bucky’s arms. This is familiar territory; teasing, sharing each other’s space. _This_ is his Bucky.

**. . .**

They test the words a few more times over the next week to the same results, so Bruce officially declares Bucky trigger word-free. Bucky also starts slowly remembering more and more. As more of his memories return to him, Steve notices more and more pieces of the old Bucky starting to come through. He still has to meet with Bruce and his medical team regularly, and has even started seeing a thoroughly vetted therapist, but overall, he’s making massive strides, and the difference is already noticeable.

That’s not to say it’s all smooth sailing since the words are gone. Bucky still has very bad days, days when memories from his time as the Soldier come through, or when he gives himself horrible headaches from trying to make himself remember things that feel _just_ out of his grasp; nights when he’s plagued by nightmares so bad Steve can hear him scream from the other side of the apartment. On those days he’s silent. He locks himself away in the dark in his room and only comes out when Steve forces him to eat something.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself on those days. He is hyperaware of how powerless he is to help Bucky through these episodes, and it leaves him feeling like a worn-out rubber band that’s about to snap. His hands itch for a round on the punching bag every time he hears Bucky’s screams from his room at night, or sees him draw the blinds tight to protect his eyes from the light during one of his headaches, but he promised Bucky he’d do better, so he goes running until his legs feel numb instead. He knows that isn’t necessarily much of an improvement, but the apartment is too suffocatingly quiet with Bucky hiding himself away for him to feel comfortable there alone with just his thoughts for company, and it does less visible damage to his body, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting any pitying stares.

On Bucky’s good days, conversation flows between the two of them almost as easily as it once did. Bucky often comes to Steve with new things he’s remembered and asks him to confirm that he’s remembered them properly, or to fill in any gaps. Steve is all too eager to oblige, always happy to spend time with Bucky, especially reminiscing about their happier times together.

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky breaks the silence one day when they’re sitting on the sofa, watching some movie on Netflix neither of them had heard of but was a “classic” according to Sam.

Steve pauses the TV, turning to face him on the sofa. “Sure, Buck. Anything.”

“How come I never see you draw anymore?” Bucky doesn’t miss how Steve flinches at the question. “You used to always have a pencil in your hand… Right?” He’s wanted to bring it up for a while but hadn’t been too sure he wasn’t just misremembering Steve’s hobby of choice. Too many memories including Steve and that sketchbook he used to carry everywhere had resurfaced lately for it to have been a coincidence.

“I don’t know.” Steve lies. “I just haven’t really wanted to since… Since _before_.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Bucky that the last time he had drawn anything was right before their last mission together during the war, that every time he had tried to get back into it since then he would start to sketch Bucky on instinct and it would always hurt too much to see him staring back at him from the page when he wasn’t really here. He didn’t know how to tell him that since getting him back in his life he had been so focused on helping Bucky recover he didn’t even think of himself enough to consider trying again.

Bucky frowns at Steve’s obvious deflection, but lets it go for now.

The next couple of days Bucky spends shut in his room with a headache, so it startles Steve when two days after Bucky asked about his art, he comes into the kitchen while Steve is making coffee to restart the conversation.

“I had a little sister.” Bucky furrows his brow like he’s trying to will himself to remember more detail.

“Yeah.” Steve smiles softly. “Becca. She was about five years younger than you. You guys were always pretty close though. You were really overprotective and always mother henning her the same way you did to me.” Steve laughs.

Bucky smiles at that. “She hated it as much as you did. But you guys were always getting into trouble.” He confirms.

“She really loved you though, Buck.” Steve softens. “She looked up to you more than anyone.”

“I can’t remember much about what she looks like.” Bucky confesses.

Steve frowns. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I have any photographs…”

“Can you draw her?” Bucky cuts him off.

“I-” Steve flounders. “I don’t know, Buck. I told you, I haven’t drawn anything since-”

“Please.”

Steve sighs. He knows he can’t say no when Bucky pleads like that, round blue-gray eyes shining.

“Thank you.” Bucky grins, pleased with himself. It’s only then that Steve realizes that he’d planned this, that the larger goal here was just to get Steve drawing again. Steve won’t call him out on this because for all he knows Bucky really doesn’t remember what Becca looks like, and how could he be so heartless as to deny him a portrait of his baby sister? He’ll grumble to himself about it later, but he knows there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do if Bucky asked, even forcing himself to get back into art for the first time in literal decades.

**. . .**

The next few days find Steve sitting at the desk in his room staring down a still-blank sheet of paper, pencil clutched impossibly tight in his white-knuckled fist. He’s tried multiple times to start on the portrait of Becca he promised Bucky, but it’s been so long, and he wants so badly to make it beautiful both to not disappoint Bucky and to do Becca justice. With all the pressure he’s put on himself, no attempt to start has been good enough and he keeps starting over, leaving him with nothing to show for all the stress and effort he’s put in so far. The offer from Sam to go for a run together is a welcome distraction, and he jumps at the chance.

When he leaves, Bucky is on the couch, reading one of the history books Steve had ordered for him to try to help him catch up on all of the major cultural events Bucky had missed over the last few decades. He was more up to date than Steve had been when he first came out of the ice, but Steve was not willing to risk Bucky being put through the same traumatizing bullshit debrief and “sensitivity training” they put him through.

After his run with Sam, they grab a cup of coffee and catch up. Steve comes back to the apartment feeling more refreshed than he’s felt in a while. The first thing he notices as he enters the apartment is the large box in the middle of the living room. He raises an eyebrow at Bucky, who is standing near it like he had just hauled it in right before Steve arrived.

“There was a knock at the door, but when I answered, no one was there- just this.” Bucky shrugs.

“Natasha.” Steve sighs. His phone vibrates and he pulls it out.

_You’re welcome_.

The simple text confirms his suspicion.

Steve’s breath catches in his throat when they open the box to reveal an antique record player very closely resembling the old busted one they took back to their shared apartment and fixed up. Steve doesn’t know how Natasha would even know about that, but because it’s Natasha, he doesn’t question it, just sends her a quick thank you. She even sent over a box of old records with it. Some of them are familiar 30’s and 40’s artists, some Steve recognizes as artists from the 50’s all the way through the 80’s that he’s either read about, heard mentioned, or even a few he’s listened to. All in all it seems like Natasha’s done her research and sent them a pretty good mix to help ease Bucky (and himself) through some of the musical decades.

“Well let’s test her out.” Steve smiles.

“Hopefully, we won’t have to fix this one ourselves.” Bucky jokes. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise that he even remembers that.

Steve flips through the albums in the box before carefully taking one out and getting the disc set up.

“I think we used to have this album.” He says as he lowers the needle. “Maybe you’ll recognize it.”

As the sounds of Billie Holiday start to fill the apartment, Bucky’s smile widens in recognition.

A few minutes into the album, Steve notices Bucky starting to squirm, like he wants to move to the beat, but won’t let himself.

“Some things really don’t change.” He laughs. “You never could keep still.”

Bucky just quirks a brow at him.

“You used to love going out dancing, Buck.” Steve softens at the thought.

When Steve says it, it sounds right. If he thinks hard enough, Bucky’s sure he can remember bits and pieces of time spent in smoke-filled dance halls, twirling around whatever girl he had on his arm that week. He smiles.

Then there’s a flash of memory that doesn’t quite fit with the others. He recognizes the same album as now playing on their old record player, but instead of dancing with a young girl in an old dance hall, he’s dancing with Steve in their apartment.

_Steve blushes as he steps on Bucky’s toes. “Sorry, Buck.”_

_“It’s alright, sweetheart. Just count your steps with me, follow my lead.”_

_Steve follows Bucky’s lead as he sways them around the apartment in time with the beat. When the next song starts, they slow down their pace to match the melody and Steve hesitantly rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder._

Well that’s new. Bucky remembers dancing with lots of girls, but can’t recall calling any of them sweetheart with such sincerity or letting them put their heads on his shoulders.

“Bucky! Are you okay?” Steve is frowning at him; clearly having been trying to get his attention. He must have spaced out, lost in the memory.

“I…” Bucky shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Sorry. I was remembering something… I think.”

“You think?” Steve’s frown deepens.

“I’m just not sure how real it was.” Bucky explains. This memory was so different from all of the others that have come back, and it’s stirring up some new and confusing thoughts for him about his relationship to his best friend.

“Maybe I can help?” Steve offers.

Bucky doesn’t even know what he would say. He knows it’s okay for two men to be together now, he’s read about it. But he also knows it was illegal back then. He doesn’t know Steve’s opinions on the idea of two men dancing together in a romantic way, and is a little terrified that if that was a false memory it might scare Steve to hear that Bucky’s subconscious apparently suggested that Bucky at least _wanted_ to dance so intimately with Steve. Bucky isn’t blind, he knows Steve is attractive, and from what he remembers, even when Steve was smaller, he’s always been cute. He knows Steve was the closest person to him his whole life, but he isn’t sure anymore exactly how close they were exactly. _Were they lovers? Was Bucky queer? Did he have a crush on Steve? Did Steve know?_ His thoughts were all over the place and only getting louder.

He couldn’t ask Steve until he had a more solid grip on what he thought the situation was. He would have to unravel this mystery one step at a time. Maybe he’d start by asking something small, something seemingly unrelated.

“Yeah, uh…” He pauses a second to think how to gently ask about this. “Did I ever have a girl, Steve?”

Steve flinches hard.

“Oh, um…” He pauses for a second, putting on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well you went out with lots of girls, Buck. But you never went steady with any that I know of.” He forces out in a clipped tone.

Bucky just nods, trying to process the last few minutes. That doesn’t really clear anything up for him. So, he didn’t have a steady girlfriend, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was with Steve, or at least wanted to be with Steve, either.

Before Bucky can bring himself to ask anymore questions, Steve already has the record put away and is making his way toward the door to his room.

“I’m uh…” He forces a yawn, the hurt expression on his face painfully obvious. “I think I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Bucky nods at the obvious lie, dumbfounded as to what to even say.

“Goodnight.” Steve calls over his shoulder before hurriedly opening the door and closing it again behind himself.

Bucky goes to bed too, even though it’s early, and they both know neither of them are getting any sleep.

**. . .**

Bucky doesn’t see Steve the next day, he doesn’t leave his room at all. The day after that, Bucky is starting to get worried. He goes to knock on the door just to make sure Steve is okay, but just as he’s trying to will himself to raise his fist to knock, the door flies open and Steve steps out clutching three sheets of paper close to his chest.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve smiles warmly, as if nothing happened the other night.

“Hey.” Bucky offers a nervous smile in return. “Steve, about the other night-”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that, Bucky. I’m sorry I was acting so weird. Everything is all good now.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at this because the energy Steve is radiating right now doesn’t exactly scream stable.

“I promise.” Steve’s gaze is sincere. Bucky nods.

“What’s that?” Bucky nods to the papers Steve is holding.

“I got something for ya.” Steve’s wide smile is back.

“Yeah?”

Steve nods.

They make their way over to the table and Steve lays out the three thick pages side by side.

“Remember when you asked me to draw you a picture of Becca?”

Bucky had honestly forgotten about it after the fiasco in the living room the other night, but he smiles at the reminder. He’s beyond grateful to Steve for doing this, and so proud of him for making himself try to draw again. It hasn’t been right spending all of this time here with him and not seeing him sketch a single thing. Seeing Steve without a pencil in his hand has been like looking at a puzzle with a piece missing out of the middle.

“Well… I might have gone overboard.” Steve rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“You? Never!” Bucky teases.

Steve chuckles at that before moving out of the way so Bucky can see his work.

Bucky gasps.

The first picture is a perfect portrait of Becca at around age 16. Bucky hadn’t really been able to picture her clearly before, only having vague memories of her, or remembering random small details.

The second is a portrait of his whole family. His mother stares back at him in her middle age, looking as plump as he remembers, her kind eyes crinkled at the edges in a sweet smile. His father is beside her. Even though the picture is black and white, drawn in charcoal, he can tell by the shading there’s a gray streak in his hair, making him look stern and dignified in the way Bucky knows he would project to others, even though he was actually a real softie. He recognizes the boy with them as himself. He’s probably in his early 20’s here, so not long before the war began. He recognizes the lean muscular frame exposed by the undershirt he’s wearing as the results of long days working down at the docks. And, of course, there’s teenage Becca beside him. Her dark brown curls are pinned back, and her head is slightly tilted back in laughter. There’s so much small detail about each of them that he didn’t really remember, but looking at them he knows Steve nailed it because it all just feels _right_.

Looking at the last drawing, he immediately decides it’s his favorite as it instantly triggers a flash of happy memory. It’s a picture of himself, at about 10 years old, sitting on the sofa from his childhood home. Becca, at 5 or so years old, is sitting on the floor in between his knees, while he braids her hair for bed, the way she always liked it.

“Do you like them?” Steve asks in a voice much too small for Bucky’s comfort. Turning to look at him, he notices he’s picking at his fingers, and realizes that he’s nervous.

“They’re amazing.” Bucky is actually blinking back tears. “Thank you.” He pulls Steve into a tight hug. Steve tenses, they haven’t hugged at all since Bucky’s come back, before immediately melting into the embrace. “Thanks for bringing them back to me, Stevie.” Bucky whispers.

“What did you call me?” Steve pulls back to look at him, eyes wide.

Bucky panics for a second. “Sorry, that just slipped out. Don’t know where it came from.”

“No, I’m not mad.” Steve’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “I just haven’t been called that since 1945.” He pulls Bucky back into an even tighter hold.

**. . .**

Things are pretty uneventful for a while after the day Steve gives Bucky the portraits. During the days Steve goes to meetings or out with Sam and Natasha while Bucky goes to therapy or his medical appointments, and in the evenings they come home and hang out and watch a movie or just talk and joke like they used to when they were younger before they go their separate ways for bed. Bucky still has bad days once in a while, but for the most part his headaches are becoming more manageable, and while he still has nightmares of his time as the Soldier, the crippling sense of guilt no longer follows him into the daytime hours. He also remembers more and more every day, and while he knows he’ll never be exactly the same guy he was before, he feels a lot more like himself than he can remember feeling in a long time. He’s even started going on small outings outside of their apartment with Steve, and sometimes Sam or Natasha will even join.

When Steve’s birthday rolls around, Bucky decides he wants to do something special for him. Steve has been an absolute saint doing anything he can to help Bucky recover. Even his therapist says Bucky has made great strides of progress since he came to the tower, and he knows he couldn’t have done any of it without Steve. He also knows that even if he won’t admit it, Steve is still struggling himself. He hears him up pacing at night instead of sleeping, sees him stare off into space, unresponsive, on the couch sometimes. He knows none of this has been easy on Steve, knows he carries around a sense of guilt over what happened to Bucky, no matter how many times he tells him not to. He’s pretty sure there’s something else bothering Steve that he won’t tell him either. He’s only gone to abuse the punching bag in the gym a couple of times since they worked on the trigger words, only when Bucky had terrible episodes of confusion, not remembering where he was and reverting back to the defensive behaviors of the Soldier. Both times he remembered himself within a minute, but the guilt it left him with put him in a bad mood for days and led him to even snap at Steve.

After wracking his brain for days, the day before Steve’s birthday he finally has a plan. He remembers Steve’s mom always making them apple cake for special occasions. He finds a recipe online and decides to surprise Steve with it.

The morning of Steve’s birthday, he lies and tells Steve it’s a bad headache day as an excuse to get out of going out for lunch with him, Sam, and Natasha. The worried frown Steve shoots him in response tugs at his heartstrings, and makes him feel bad for the lie, but he needs Steve gone and the apartment to himself for a while for this to work. As soon as Steve is gone, he heads to the nearest corner store, one he’s been to with Steve quite a few times now. It’s a little nerve wracking, being his first trip out of the apartment alone, but he’s only gone a few minutes and everything is okay. He gets what he needs and gets to work on the recipe as soon as he gets back to the apartment.

Steve is careful not to make too much noise coming back in from his birthday lunch with Sam and Natasha, mindful of Bucky’s headache. He had been a little sad Bucky wouldn’t be celebrating with them, that he didn’t really seem to remember Steve’s birthday at all, but he was mostly upset to hear Bucky’s head was bothering him so much after he had been doing so much better.

Immediately upon entering the apartment, Steve notices the smell of something burning. Now on alert, he cautiously follows his nose towards the kitchen.

“Bucky?” He calls out. “Is everything okay?”

“Shit!” He hears a hushed swear from the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, he’s met with the sight of Bucky, hunched over the counter, poking at something with a fork.

“Bucky?” He asks cautiously. “What’s going on?”

Bucky swiftly turns around, but shields whatever is on the counter from Steve’s line of sight.

“Steve! You’re back early.” He laughs nervously.

“Thought I’d check on your headache.” He crosses his arms, quirking a brow in amusement.

“Headache? Oh! Yeah! All better.” He smiles unconvincingly.

“That’s great. So, what have you got there?”

“This? Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Steve just continues to stare him down until Bucky sighs.

“Fine.” He moves out of the way to reveal the burnt cake.

Steve covers his mouth to suppress a gasp.

“Buck-”

“I… I wanted to do something nice for your birthday. I remembered your ma used to always make us apple cake every year, so I tried to make one, but I ruined it.” Bucky bites his lip, ducking his head to avoid Steve’s gaze as he finishes explaining.

When Steve doesn’t respond for a long moment, Bucky hesitantly looks up to gauge his reaction. What he isn’t prepared for is to be met with the sight of Steve laughing to himself. He’s even less prepared for the laughing to turn into crying a half second later.

“Steve.” Bucky furrows his brows in concern. “I’m sorry. We can try to go get another cake or something.”

“No” Steve sniffs. “It’s not about the cake.”

“Then what is it?” Bucky frowns.

“You don’t remember?” Steve pouts. “This has happened before.”

“I ruined your birthday cake before?” Bucky asks, confused.

“No.” Steve snorts. “I ruined yours, actually.”

It feels familiar, but Bucky can’t pull the full memory into focus. It feels just out of reach, in the back of his head somewhere.

“It was really stupid actually.” Steve smiles fondly at the memory. “I was so upset that I had ruined your birthday and you just laughed it off. It was actually the first time you told me you-” He freezes, eyes widening as he stops himself just in time.

“First time I told you what?” Bucky prompts.

“I-” Steve stares ahead wide eyed, before shaking his head and running for his room. “I’m sorry”

Bucky stares confused at the spot where Steve had just been standing a moment prior.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Bucky decides to head to bed early to give Steve his space. He isn’t really sure what he did wrong. He desperately wishes he could just will himself to remember what Steve was talking about so he would know why he freaked out or how to help. He decides all he can do for now is give him space and hope Steve opens up to him, though he knows from experience how unlikely that is without him dragging it out of him. He’ll check on the punk in the morning.

Bucky lays restless in bed for a while going over the whole interaction in his head again and again until he finally falls into a restless sleep. Instead of nightmares, he dreams of the memory in question.

_Bucky could smell the burnt cake the second he walked in the door to their run-down apartment. He tried to tease Steve at his attempt to cook as usual, but immediately knew something was off. Steve was upset._

_“Hey,” he kneeled on the floor in front of Steve’s wobbly wooden chair, putting a calloused hand on his chin to gently force him to look up at him. “What’s going on?”_

_“I…” Steve sighed, his bright blue eyes hesitantly raising to meet Bucky’s own concerned stormy gaze. “It’s so stupid. I felt awful I couldn’t get you anything and we couldn’t do anything for your birthday, so I tried to make ma’s apple cake, but I ruined it.” He huffed, crossing his arms and looking down in frustration._

_“Oh, Stevie…” Bucky offered him that signature half-smirk that was reserved just for him, before putting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him in for a quick, sloppy kiss. “Sweetheart,” Bucky pulled just far enough away to look at him with soft eyes, hand still holding firm to the back of Steve’s neck. “You didn’t need to go to all that trouble. I meant what I said before, I really don’t care about my birthday, I’m just glad you’re here with me. We can always do something next year. I love you, punk.”_

_That was the first time he had ever said that to Steve. They had danced around each other for years, knowing how dangerous it would be to explore their feelings for each other. But here, in the safe haven they had built in their own apartment, they were free to be open and honest with one another, even if the rest of the world could never know._

_“I love you too.”_

Bucky’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright in bed, the memory still fresh in his mind. He throws the covers off of himself and hurriedly makes his way to Steve’s room, hesitantly knocking in case the other man is asleep.

“Come in.” Comes the muffled reply.

Bucky slowly opens the door and is greeted by Steve, sitting up in his bed, the lights dimmed. His eyes are red, like he’s been crying, and Bucky’s heart aches for him, at the thought of him keeping whatever was between them secret from even Bucky.

“I think I remember.” Bucky whispers.

Steve sucks in a breath.

“Steve, did I… Did I love you?” Bucky’s eyes are shining. “Were we in love?”

“Yeah.” Steve whimpers, blinking back tears.

“Stevie…” Bucky softens, crossing the room. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Steve shrugs, looking away. “I didn’t want to pressure you. In case you didn’t feel the same anymore. It’s okay if you don’t.” He finally looks up shyly and the dejected expression in his ocean eyes is heartbreaking.

“Stevie…” Bucky sits beside him on the bed. “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to put all these confusing feelings and memories together… I think I do still love you. At least, I want to.” He offers

Steve perks up. “You’re not just telling me what I want to hear?”

“No, sweetheart. I still may not know everything, but I know you and I belong together. This feels right.” He takes Steve’s hand in his own. “It won’t be easy. I’m still a mess and… And you need to work through some things too. But we’ll be okay. We’ll get through it together.”

Steve reaches up to wipe a stray tear. “I love you, Buck. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I understand why you did it. And I love you too, punk.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that again, jerk.”

Bucky leans in and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So disclaimer: I know nothing about science, so if any of the science here doesn't check out, let's all just agree to pretend it does, please. Haha
> 
> Our boys are finally together!!!! This was the last "real" chapter so all that's left is a short epilogue that I'm almost done with, so stay tuned for that soon. I'll also be putting out a shrinkyclinks Christmas one-shot soon so if that sound like something you'd be interested in, maybe spare a subscribe?
> 
> I live for comments! They are my motivator! So let me know what y'all thought about this chapter, or just the story overall so far, or what you'd like to see in the epilogue or future works!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @Star_Princess31


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